


through chaos as it swirls

by juxtapose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, I'm not sure what I'm doing, Loki Does What He Wants, M/M, Minor Background Relationships, Not Really Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juxtapose/pseuds/juxtapose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anthony Edward Stark is dead. The country mourns a hero; The Avengers mourn a friend and ally, and Steve Rogers mourns the one person he thought he could love. Meanwhile, one of the realms of Asgard is now home to a new face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Right, so here’s the deal. I’ve never written a piece this intricate before. One of the many amazing things about Marvel Avengersverse is that it’s so expansive. It’s also the most daunting thing--I never have any idea if what I’m writing is canonically acceptable. I’m working my way through various Avengers universes, but I am not an expert at any of it, by any means. So feel free to criticize me. A couple links for reference, though, if you’re like me and aren’t fluent in the comics just yet, or if you are and you’re wondering where in God’s name I got my information:
> 
> [Here is a map of Asgard.](http://stanneck.de/image_002.gif)
> 
> [Here is an article about the Zodiac](http://marvel.com/universe/Zodiac), an enemy of the Avengers from the 70‘s that have been brought back in various ways. I am using them to my liking. If that unnerves you, which I'd understand, then consider this one big AU.
> 
> I like to think this fic lies within the realm of a combination of the MCU and Marvel 616. It takes place post- _Avengers_ film and in that universe, but with factors of the comics thrown in. Especially since I’m using comic book villains while also describing RDJ’s big brown anime eyes (Tony Stark’s eyes are blue).
> 
> Oh, boy. I’m already talking too much. Anyway, DISCLAIMER: I own nothing except any original characters you might see me throw in along the line. And...enjoy? Thank you as always to Danielle (EverdeenFrayPotter) for putting up with my antics concerning this fic.

The night Tony Stark dies, a hundred million stars shine for him. They watch the battle carry on and on, until abruptly, it ceases--leaving in its wake a silence so deafening it seems to unearth the very depths of the ground below.

A team stands together, but defeated. Helicopters swerve overhead.

A soldier collapses to his knees, head tilted toward the sky full of unanswered questions, and silently weeps.

* * * * *

They’re called the Zodiac, Fury had said. Tony had deemed them “The Hip-Hop Group from Hell”, because who calls themselves the Zodiac, anyway? Somehow they’d been linked to Advanced Idea Mechanics, which made them not only a threat but a nuisance--not to mention they owned a very Important and Dangerous Weapon.

“The Zodiac Key.” Fury gestured to the screen behind him in the briefing room. Steve leaned forward with interest at the same time Tony tilted back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes--Tony’s lax attitude toward essentially everything was a characteristic Steve occasionally envied, but mostly found frustrating. Natasha exchanged a look with Clint, and Bruce sat quietly at the corner of the large table at which everyone had gathered.

A large photo of a--well, a key appeared on-screen.

“I don’t know what I was expecting," Tony deadpanned. Bruce smirked while Fury threw a glare in Stark’s direction.

“It’s a mystical weapon from the Ankh Dimension. It’s extremely powerful and very dangerous. I have no idea what the Zodiac intend to do with this Key on earth, but it can’t be anything good. The leader of the Zodiac, Scorpio, has control of the Key. As long as he’s got it, we’re in trouble. SHIELD needs to contain the weapon, and with any luck, destroy the damn thing.”

The large key was decorated with some sort of strange inscription, written in a language that certainly wasn’t English, and didn’t quite resemble any earthly language Steve was familiar with. “So, these Zodiac folk." Steve drummed his fingers on the table. “They showed up yesterday, wreaked their havoc until we made them back down, but the question is . . . what do they want with Tony?”

At the sound of his name, Tony straightened in his seat. “Oh, are we talking about how Hip-Hop Group kept gaining on me? Because that was annoying.”

“I think they were trying to distract him,” Clint piped up, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Pull the wool over his eyes.”

“My eyes are wool-free, thanks. Cap’s got a valid question, though.” Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder, his hand lingering there just a moment. And it was funny, Steve thought then, how only months ago he would’ve shoved him away. Tony was oddly touchy. And Steve guessed he didn‘t mind. Especially because Tony was only touchy with people he _liked_. Or so Steve had observed. The heat of Tony‘s hand on his back subsided as he finished, “If they wanted my attention, they got it.”

Natasha shook her head. “Director Fury, if you saw the footage the Helicarrier took surveying the fight, you can see they’re following Tony with something. One of them is, anyway.”

“Scorpio,” Fury confirmed, “ _with_ the Key. Which is why I’m saying that Key is our main focus. If Scorpio doesn’t get what he wants out of Mr. Stark, whatever that may be--”

“Di _rector_ ,” Tony mock-gasped, “Are you suggesting our plan of action is to sell my lean and attractive body to the Read-My-Signs? I’m a Pisces, baby.”

“--he will _turn his plan of action toward the city_ ," Fury snapped in correction, “And with the amount of power that Key has, I may as well say toward the _world_. We’ve been keeping track of the Zodiac for a very long time. They love chaos. They _thrive_ on it."

Bruce nodded. “So, what, is this Tesseract Part Two? Because if so we could use Thor back from Asgard for some man power.”

“Yeah,” Clint snorted, “if he wasn’t too busy dealing with his apeshit brother who _caused_ the whole Tesseract mess.”

Fury began to pace a little. “Not exactly, Dr. Banner. It’s not so much how much power is stored within the Zodiac Key. It’s what the Key itself can _do_.”

“Which is?” Steve prompted.

Fury sighed, looking suddenly very tired. “For our purposes, Captain Rogers,” he replied, “I’m gonna say ‘everything.’”

Later on, Steve found himself on the roof as he often did. Stark Tower technology was overwhelming at times to the average person, let alone the Man out of Time. Tony had convinced him (and everyone) to move in, anyway, so there it was. And it was fine, most of the time. Except when Steve needed some downtime and there was a blaring flat-screen television here and a talking robot there. And it made him miss home--his _real_ home, back in 1943.

‘Man out of Time.’ That’s what Loki had called Steve. And this was one of those days Steve certainly felt it--what the heck was an Ankh Dimension? Steve was just fine trying to figure out this dimension, thanks very much.

“How’s about a nightcap, Cap?”

Steve couldn’t help the small smile making its way onto his face, breaking free of his furrowed brow and set jaw he’d had all evening. “Sure,” he said to the voice behind him, and he hadn’t even finished saying the word before Tony Stark’s arm was obnoxiously flung in front of him, drink in hand.

The contents of the drink didn’t much concern Steve. It wasn’t as if he could get drunk, at any rate. He muttered a “thanks” before taking the glass from Tony and downing a sip. Scotch whiskey trickled down his throat. He could hear Tony breathing next to him, their shoulders close to touching.

“Ms. Potts not with you tonight?” Steve asked. Not wanting Tony to get the wrong idea (Steve wasn’t even sure what ‘wrong idea’ he was thinking of), he added, “I mean, um, you know. Friday night. Surprised Mr. Tony Stark doesn’t have plans.”

He heard the rustle of Tony’s shrug beside him. “No Pepper. She, uh. She had things.”

It didn’t seem as though Tony wanted to speak of the matter further, so Steve let the conversation fall, down down down through the night air, and let it replace itself with an amiable silence.

They did this a lot. Just stood in each other’s company, drinking in the quiet of the night. At first it had been awkward, Steve recalled. Heading out onto the roof for some air in the dead of night, to get away--to find that the one person you’d never really hit it off with had come up to do the same.

This was how they’d reconciled their differences from almost a year ago. Drinks on the rooftop with only the stars watching.

Steve turned slightly, watching as the moonlight outlined Tony’s profile, his every little movement in silver-white. While the man usually walked around in ostentatious sunglasses and ridiculous suits, tonight he was in a simple t-shirt and jeans, brown eyes shining, nothing to cover them up. Steve shuddered a little in spite of himself, despite the warmth of the night.

“Tony,” he said, and his voice came out a little shakier than he’d intended.

And then Tony looked at him, those same big brown eyes now focused on Steve and Steve alone, and oh, crud. “I, um.” Steve kept thinking how there were things he wanted to say--things he’d been meaning to say for a while--but they all fluttered out of his mind at that moment.

So instead, he pressed on with their semi-nightly ritual. “Tell me,” he said quietly, bashfulness rising to the surface of his tone, “Tell me what I’ve missed.”

Tony threw Steve one of his trademark half-grins before turning his attention to the sky again. “Okay,” he said. The usual joking highs-and-lows in his voice were absent, replaced with a soft naturalness Steve only heard on these nights. “So, we’ll start off like always--the war, I don’t need to tell you about--but it ended in 1945, victory by the Allies, Truman replaced Roosevelt in office . . . Also, _National Velvet_ came out. Real tear-jerker. But only if you like horses . . .”

Cap squinted up at the stars for a moment before letting his eyes fall closed to the sound of Tony and History. He pondered idly Tony’s reasons for doing this--if anything, he was first to make sure Cap was the brunt of his little jokes. But in these moments, with just the two of them, it was like they were connected somehow--two insomniac super-freaks--and maybe there wasn’t always a joke to be made of that.

Tonight was like any other--the stars, and the swirling of Tony and History--until it wasn’t.

Until, like lightning, the Zodiac brought chaos through the darkened sky, and the battle began.

* * * * *

“Is it me, or do these guys take their costumes very seriously?”

There was fire and battle and through the smoke and the sounds of people screaming, Tony Stark was joking.

Taurus was battling the Hulk--an apt match, considering Taurus was nothing short of a gigantic bull. Hawkeye was shooting arrows left and right at Aquarius and Leo; Black Widow and Cap were dealing with getting the civilians smack dab in the middle of it all to a safe location.

And Tony was making jokes. Because what else was there to do when JARVIS kept saying, “Sir, the Key will instantaneously disrupt the functionality of this armor on contact,” and “Sir, I’d advise that you keep maximum distance from the being identified as Scorpio--”

“Not the plan, JARVIS,” Tony muttered, because, well. It wasn’t. “So, tell me.” He circled Scorpio in the air. “What inspired this little outfit? The orange hood is as nice a touch as any, if not a little Halloween-y.”

Scorpio’s yellow eyes narrowed. “You know not of the power you face. I hold the Key to the future. With it, I can do anything.”

“That’s cute. But do you have the key to my _heart_?” Tony kind of wished his batting eyelashes were visible behind his helmet. He was just about to give JARVIS the mental note to add clear visors to the latest Iron suit he was working on, when he realized upon landing that he was a small case of Surrounded.

“Tony,” was Cap’s voice ringing through the communicator from somewhere a few blocks over, “We’ve got SHIELD copters above us at the ready. You have the plan down, don’t you?”

Tony nodded, bracing himself, repulsors lighting up. “Sir, yes, sir,” he said.

“You just need to distract them all long enough for the rest of the team to come up from behind. Once we’ve got them, SHIELD will get a hold of the Scorpio and the Key. Okay?”

Taurus was advancing on him, and it didn’t look as if Gemini was slowing down either. “Uh, right. Yup. Can you do that thing where you hurry, though? Because--and I never thought I’d say this in my life--I’m literally surrounded by Zodiac signs. They’re out to get me. I’m going to be having nightmares about this.”

“We’ll come and get you, Tony. Just hang in there.” Captain America’s voice had transformed itself into Steve’s--a little less rough around the edges, and oddly reassuring. “We’ll get you. I promise.”

The last words startled Tony in their personal heaviness--a promise. He didn’t have much time to reflect, though, for JARVIS was adamant: “Sir, I really don’t think the suit can effectively absorb--”

“Uh, JARVIS, I’m more focused on that bull’s very large horns.”

Aquarius chuckled. “Give up, Iron Man.”

“Oh, are we going to have a cliche talk about how I’m going to lose? How about we just skip that and just get to the fighting? It’s two in the morning. I have a business meeting at eight--not like I ever go to those, but hey, I could have.” Tony whirled around to toss a repulsor blast in Saggitarius’ direction (a _repulsor blast_ at a _zodiac sign_. The weirdness factor concerning this whole thing was, in Tony’s opinion, ridiculously high).

But the thing about zodiac signs is that there are quiet a few of them. And as Tony felt Leo’s burly arm clip itself around his neck, he realized that coming out of this completely in-tact might not be an option. And he knew full well Hulk was battling a few of them, too judging by the “SMASH!” sounds emanating from a little ways off.

“Avengers, this is Agent Maria Hill. Iron Man is surrounded; is anyone available for back-up?” the communicator in Tony’s suit buzzed, and if he hadn’t been too busy kicking Taurus off him he might have sighed in relief.

But then, he heard it--when he had a moment to listen, it was deafening--the screaming of civilians. Some on their way home from work, most likely. Others wandering the New York streets at night like any lost person has ever done. It grated against Tony’s ears, sharp.

“I’m fine,” he sputtered, twisting to elbow Leo in the face, “Having having a blast. You guys who’re with the-- _argh_ \--civilians stay put. Hulk’s got a few of these low-lives covered-- _ow_. Sorry, did I offend?”

Natasha, scoffing: “Tony, seriously. We-- _argh_ \--are on our way. There are six kids trapped under a--Hawkeye, look out!”

“Cap, what’s your call?” Clint shouted.

“Just . . . everyone stay in position.” Steve’s tone was firm, quieting everyone else--he had that effect, it always seemed. “Tony, I swear, we’re almost--”

But suddenly Tony couldn’t hear Cap’s voice anymore; he couldn’t hear anything, and suddenly he was flying, flying _fast_ but not of his own volition. A new, dark, unwanted energy was seeping through his armor, through his _skin_ , and JARVIS was saying something that sounded like _key_ but the screech of the air around Tony was drowning it out, and he was falling--falling up, up, up, up and it all seemed so very familiar and he knew; he knew how this would end, and he wondered if Pepper knew what he wanted her to know, or any of his silly Super Secret Boyband members knew even half of what they wanted him to--and Steve. Tony wanted to hear Cap--no, _Steve_ ’s voice again, his voice with a promise, because even if he didn’t make it out alive at least in the end wouldn’t have to be . . . wouldn’t have to be . . .

* * * * *

“Hopeless,” says Jane Foster despairingly.

Four o’clock has come and passed. The sun is creeping into the sky, and the Avengers--what remain of them at this point--are crowded around the astrophysicist’s desk chair. She peers at a computer screen behind her glasses, eyes red with tiredness. Complete with hi-tech lab equipment (and also her boyfriend the demi-god, when he needed Earthly living quarters), Jane tends to spend quite a bit of time at Avengers HQ. Many of the SHIELD agents have taken quite a liking to her as well. Her co-worker, Darcy, has also made quite the impression on the team. (She’s the only one who’s managed to draw a mustache on Natasha Romanoff’s face in Sharpie without getting her hand ripped off.) While they often bring with them a light air of positivity, this night--morning, now--is somber, weighing down everyone in the room.

“I just don’t understand. I created this portal monitor for a _reason_. Why is it telling me the portal between Asgard and Earth’s been _severed_?”

Bruce runs a hand over his face. “I hate to say this, Jane, but that might be because it _is_.”

“Whoa. Back up, here.” Darcy Lewis, donning her _101 Dalmatians_ pajamas, shakes her head a little. “J, you already said that Rainbow Bridge of Awesome was broken--”

“The Bifrost.”

“--Whatever. It was broken, and now this one cropped up on the edge of the Ocean of Something--”

“The Sea of Space, Darcy--”

“Okay, fine. So Thor’s been using that one, and now it’s busted, too?”

Jane buries her face into her hands. “I don’t understand. I really don’t.”

There is a painfully long bout of silence until Clint finally says, “Yeah. We’re feeling that, too.”

“I just think Thor . . .” Natasha clears her throat, averting her eyes to the ground. “I think Thor should be here. For this. He doesn’t know what happened to Sta--to Tony.”

The name has not been mentioned since 2 AM, when the pronouncement was made.

The pronouncement, in Nick Fury’s gravelly voice. The realization that Anthony Stark had fallen into the sky and wasn’t coming back. Silence greets the group again like an old friend. Natasha wraps her arms around herself. Clint sniffs. Darcy leans her head against Jane’s shoulder.

It’s Bruce who asks, “Has anyone, um. Has anyone seen Rogers?”

Clint shakes his head. “Not since earlier out on the field. He’s on the roof, I think. Think we should let him be.”

“Is he okay?” Darcy asks, her usually peppy voice sunk to a whispering low.

Her question hangs in the air, frozen. Thirty floors up, Steve Rogers stands out on the rooftop, his eyes closed, waiting for a voice he knows he won’t hear.

* * * * *

Tony Stark opens his eyes to an orange-yellow sky.

At first it’s blinding, and Tony squeezes his eyes shut, welcoming the darkness again. But the chirping of birds, the smell of--trees? Leaves? Tony isn’t sure, but it’s something close to fresh air--filling his lungs prompts him to try again.

Orange and yellow, but no sign of the sun.

Tony sits up, immediately wishing he hadn’t. His head is swimming, and the lurch forward causes a wave of nausea to settle over him. “Oh. Bad idea. Ah. No,” he mutters, his voice a choking grumble, before flopping back onto the grass again. . . Grass?

He makes the excruciating effort to turn his head to the right, seeing his helmet battered and strewn beside him. It’s then he really notices his surroundings.

Everything almost seems to _sparkle_ in a strange springtime kind of way, except Tony knows he left New York on a brisk autumn-on-the-cusp-of-winter night.

Not to mention the trees. The trees are very, very tall--unnaturally so.

“Also,” Tony mutters, peering at some bark behind him, “purple.”

He closes his eyes again, his entire body feeling heavy, and all he can muster is one final thought before slipping into unconsciousness: _JARVIS, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things: first off, whoa. I'm so excited there's actually some interest generating for this story. At the same time I'm also slightly terrified, because I have no idea if this whole thing will measure up to your expectations, dear readers. The fic itself is finished, and I will edit the chapters as I post them. Which leads me to the point that will probably be apparent to you as you read along--I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. TCAIS was honestly just a spur-of-the-moment idea that I mostly wrote to have fun with, and I really did have fun writing it. I hope you guys at least find it entertaining if nothing else. XD Also, just FYI--I will be bouncing from POV to POV. Though this is a Steve/Tony-centric story, I delve into a couple other characters' POVs along the line as well.
> 
> For visual reference: I mentally cast [this actor on the left of this photo](http://aidanmoher.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/Game-of-Thrones-arrow_360.jpeg) as the boy Tony is about to meet in this chapter. You may recognize him from Game of Thrones. If not, now you know he's from Game of Thrones. :D
> 
> Lastly: I should have mentioned the title of this story is derived from Coldplay's "Us Against the World." I really can't get enough of Coldplay. Right, I'll shut up now. Enjoy!

The second time Tony Stark opens his eyes, he knows something is very off.

This is not only due to the fact that the trees around him are just as purple as they’d been before he’d passed out, but also to the small child standing above him with an arrow pointed straight at Tony. The boy cocks an eyebrow, glaring at Tony expectantly.

“Okay.” Tony winces, propping himself up on his elbows, eyeing the arrow carefully. The fogginess in his head has not subsided, but he knows enough be cautious around anyone with a bow and arrow, if having Clint Barton living at Stark Tower has taught him anything. The boy steps cautiously backwards with Tony’s movements. “I’m definitely not dead, then. Because is heaven even supposed to have purple trees? And also, I don’t think you’re a cherub--you’re not, right? Because I don’t see any more of you ready to sing me away to paradise.”

Tony sits up, raising his hands in front of the boy, whose grip on his weapon does not waver. Gingerly, Tony reaches over to snatch his discarded helmet. “Hey, JARVIS. Help a guy out. Where exactly am I?”

Silence greets him in reply. Though Tony’s head is throbbing he tries to think, tries to feel the buzz and hum and electric _connection_ of his armor--but nothing.

To confirm his nauseating suspicions, Tony places the helmet over his head, and finds only darkness surrounding him. “Dead suit. Perfect. Boy, that Key really did a number on--whoa. Easy there.” Apparently, the sight of Tony with his helmet on had startled the boy, who moves forward once again. “I’ll, um. I’ll just. Take this off. Useless to me now, anyway.” He tosses his helmet to the side, meeting the boy’s eyes again.

In an almost comically melodic voice, the boy asks, “Who are you? Tell me your name.”

Tony sighs. “Yeah. Definitely not dead.” Rubbing his eyes a little, he retorts, “Tony Stark, Professional Badass, Engineer and Avenger. It’s a pleasure. Also, I won’t hurt you or anything. Even if I wanted to I’m kind of lacking on the offense front at this point.”

He takes a moment to survey the sight before him. The boy’s build is tiny, but strong--the limbs that protrude from his tattered blue tunic are almost molded to hold his weapon. Strands of blonde hair fall in front of piercing blue eyes, and Tony notices his the tips of his ears are pointy. His gaze lingers long enough that it starts to make Tony a little uncomfortable, before the boy gradually begins to lower his arrow. “What brings you to this place?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Tony chuckles bitterly. “I don’t even know where ‘this place’ is. So.”

He pauses, waiting for the boy to provide some kind of explanation. A guided tour, maybe. Or possibly directions to the nearest Marriott hotel. But he says nothing, eyes flaring. “Um. Right. Okay, think, Stark. I’m definitely not on Earth.”

The boy’s eyebrows crease in curiosity. “How are you so sure of this?”

“Well, um." Tony gestures down at himself. “My armor--what I’m wearing, see, it’s made earthly elements and compounds and materials. So. It gets all out of whack when I’m out of Earth’s atmosphere. Also--purple trees. We don’t have those. I’m really obsessed with the purple trees--anyway, could you be a pal and tell me where exactly I-- _ah_.”

Another wave of weakness, tiredness, _something_ ness comes over him that he classifies in his head as Very Not Good. He lifts a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes, breathing hard. _Friggin’ Key. Friggin’ Zodiac. Guess who’s never checking his horoscope again? This guy._

When his vision clears up again, the boy’s expression has softened. He’s cast his bow and arrow to the ground, and Tony watches a little apprehensively as the boy kneels in front of him, tilting his head slightly. “You are on Alfheim, Tony Stark. The Land of the Light Elves.”

“Oh, God.” Tony fights the urge to curl up and will himself to sleep again. “This is way too _Lord of the Rings_ for my liking.” He lets out a long, agitated breath. “Listen, kid. I have no idea where the hell I am, but for starters, I’d like to be out of, I don’t know, the middle of a friggin’ forest. So. Directions would be nice.”

Though the boy is unarmed, he stands defensive for a very long moment. Finally, he picks up his weapon again, and Tony’s making a _goodbye, cruel world_ speech in his head when the boy says, with an air of determination, “Follow me.”

* * * * *

 _Tony Stark was a hero. Tony Stark was the only person who I think really knew me, despite everything._

_Tony Stark was my best friend._

Steve Rogers wants to say all these things in front of the crowd gathered to honor the late Anthony Edward Stark. The microphone in front of him appears quietly daunting. The rustling of the people in their seats, the occasional sniffle or crumpling of a tissue--all of it is loud in Steve’s ears, large and intimidating. He’s in-costume, as are the rest of his comrades, and he thinks back oddly to standing in front of a group of soldiers back in 1943, who glared at him like he didn’t deserve to be there. Steve sort of feels the same sentiment radiating from today’s audience, too.

So all he can muster is this: “Tony Stark was a good man. One of the best. On behalf of the Avengers and of SHIELD, I want to say that we will strive not only to put right what happened to Tony, but to do justice to his memory.”

He can feel himself flushing bright red as he takes his front-row seat again, can feel all eyes on him. He stares down at his hands, squeezing them into fists, glad for Pepper’s voice coming from the podium a few moments later. Her words, however, aren’t the most welcome of distractions:

“You know,” she says, her voice cracking. Steve lifts his head to look at her, and wishes he hadn’t. Her eyes are puffy and red, heavy with tears. “When I first met Tony Stark, I’ll admit--it seemed like he was one of those people who everyone knew, but . . . less than everyone liked. And I figured if there ever came a day I’d be attending his funeral, that if I saw anyone at all it’d be a bunch of faces I didn’t recognize, playing sad for appearances. Because that’s how Tony used to be. All about appearances.

But I see you all here--I see the Avengers, I see all these people who have been affected by Tony in a positive way. I see the people of this city that Iron Man has saved. And I understand that the man behind the suit has become--” Her speech falters slightly, but she presses on. “-- _had_ become someone different. Someone whom I can really understand so many people would gather to honor.” She bites her lip, closing her eyes. “Today, we mourn the Tony Stark we have all grown to know and love. We mourn a hero. We’ll miss you, Tony.”

She takes a shaky breath before making her way back to her chair. Happy Hogan puts an arm around her shoulders. Colonel Rhodes sits to Pepper’s left, his expression a failing attempt at stoic sternness. Steve would know. He can tell he’s doing a poor job of it himself.

He finds his attention wandering to the casket, which doesn’t contain a body. There hadn’t been one to retrieve. And the idea that Tony is wandering out in space somewhere, lifeless and alone, is the stuff of nightmares that makes Steve shudder.

And despite the fact that Pepper’s right--that all these people are here to honor Tony, to prove he’d made a difference in his lifetime--

Steve can’t help but think how most of these people didn’t really ever know him.

They hadn’t seen him in a worn t-shirt and jeans in the moonlight. They hadn’t heard his secrets in front of the blaring television on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

None of them know. None of them ever would . . . 

_They were sitting side by side, knees touching, watching_ Star Wars _, because evidently it was a rite of passage by Tony Stark’s standards. Luke Skywalker was finally learning how to master the Force when Tony suddenly quipped, “When I go, I wanna go smiling.”_

_Steve blinked in confusion. “Sorry?”_

_“You know how when Obi-Wan Kenobi’s about to face Darth Vader, he knows he’s gonna die, but he’s gonna do it with_ style _?" Tony shrugged, turning to face Steve and resting his elbow on the head of the couch, leaning slightly to prop his head onto his hand. “When I die, probably due to some amazing heroic feat, I wanna go with a big fuckin’ smirk on my face. Like, ‘hey, this was a pretty cool life I guess, and I’m gonna make sure Death knows how awesome I am.’”_

_Steve shook his head, unable to hide a grin. “Somehow I’m not surprised by that.”_

_“As well you shouldn’t, Capsicle. What about you?” Tony licked his lips a little, eyes intense with curiosity. “How would you wanna go? I mean, you kinda had a chance to think about that when you were plummeting into an ocean that one time--”_

_“--Thanks for the reminder--”_

_“--but seriously.” Tony nodded to Steve expectantly, who shrugged his shoulders._

_“I don’t know, Stark. I guess I’d wanna go having done the best I could for the people I cared about. For my country. I wouldn’t let myself be . . . finished with this life until I’d done that. Heck--seventy years later I’m still not done. I don’t intend to be anytime soon. I guess waking up from the ice was my second chance. Don’t want to waste it.”_

_Tony looked at him for a long while, and Cap was about to ask what he was staring at, until the former finally said, “Yeah. Of course that’s your answer, Mr. Perfect Patriot.” His tone was not unkind; rather, it spoke volumes of respect, of understanding, that his words did not make obvious. But Steve felt it all the same. He felt it, warm in the depths of him, and stored it away._

The mayor says a few words, and everything else is a blur after that, but soon enough Steve finds himself being ushered out of the row by Natasha, who’s looking at him with something like pity--as close to pity as you’ll ever get from Ms. Romanoff, at any rate.

And then the press happen, bringing Steve out of his daze:

“Captain, is it true you made the call that led to Tony Stark’s death?”

“What happens to the Avengers, now, Captain America?”

“Can the people of New York still rest assured of their safety, now that the Avengers have lost such a crucial member of the team?”

Agent Hill pushes forward, shooing away the paparazzi and the journalists with a wave of her hand. Cap walks beside her, studying the pavement below him, and responds to not a single one of their questions.

He’s afraid if he does--if he makes the smallest attempt to defend himself, his team, Tony--he will break, shatter into the pieces he knows he can barely hold together anymore. And he sure as hell can’t afford to do that now.

In his mind, though, the answers are loud and clear: _Yes, it’s my fault Tony’s dead. And what happens now? Your guess is as good as mine. But I know what_ I _have to do._

* * * * *

“So, what do I call you?”

Tony Stark has envisioned many things for himself in his lifetime. Hobbling along side-by-side with a light elf has never been one of them. He thinks idly how fortunate it is that it feels like an Earthly springtime here--he’s just removed his armor (manually, mind you--Tony hadn’t realized until this point just how convenient the ‘disarm’ function built into his suit truly is) and is walking around in nothing but a black jumpsuit.

He imagines this looks ridiculous, but he figures there’s no one else around to care, so he may as well follow this kid’s lead. The weight of his limbs and the feverish crawliness of his skin keep him moving at a slow pace, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind. Though he has not indicated he particularly trusts Tony, the boy evidently has enough pity to at least help him along. So Tony prompts again: “You’ve got a name, right?”

The boy tilts his head up to look at Tony, and says something mostly unintelligible that sounds a lot like ‘stop-han.’

“Come again?”

He repeats the name like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Tony sucks in a breath. “Right. Okay. Your name is officially Stop-Han. I’d call you Legolas, but I already have a friend I call . . .” Tony trails off at Stop-Han’s perplexed expression and finishes with, “Nevermind. Okay, Stop-Han. So, Alfheim, right? What, are you guys your own planet of elves or whatever?”

“Planet? No, Tony Stark of Midgard.” Stop-Han shakes his head, and Tony’s ears perk at the sound of terminology he’s _sure_ he’s heard before, and it all makes sense when the boy explains, “Alfheim is the third of the nine realms of Asgard.”

“A-Asgard?” Tony sputters, his mind stumbling over the reality of finally hearing a familiar word, “We’re on _Asgard_ right now? Oh, praise God--no, actually, more appropriately, praise Thor.”

Stop-Han stops in his tracks. “The mighty Thor? Son of Odin, of Asgard City? You are _acquainted_ with--”

“Yeah, yeah, all that. This is good. The only way I could’ve gotten here was via some kind of portal. Maybe he knows I’m here, and he can use one of those nexus-portals to . . ." He trails off again, stopping to take a few breaths, his fast-paced thoughts unable to slow down for his lagging body. He continues to walk with Stop-Han, who stares up at him in a combination of confusion and mild awe as Tony essentially rattles off his consciousness out-loud: “Okay, well, this is good. I just made an awesome discovery without even trying, since I’m basically living proof that humans can _breathe_ on Asgard. Well, I can anyway. Or maybe my arc reactor’s just--oh." He stops, peering down at the center of his chest. “Oh, _shit_.”

He runs a hand through his hair, and Stop-Han asks, “What is the trouble, Tony Stark?”

“This thing.” Tony jabs a finger toward the arc reactor in the center of his chest. “When you found me a little ways back, was it glowing? It should be glowing an obnoxious bright blue.”

Stop-Han frowns. “You remained unconscious for quite some time, and as I watched you, the strange blue light flickered on and on, until it ceased upon your awakening.”

“Oh. Right. Okay. I should’ve noticed . . . okay. Well. This is interesting.”

“Interesting?” Stop-Han echoes, brow furrowed.

Tony leans against a purple tree. “Yeah, in a morbid sort of way. Basically . . ." A slow smile spreads across his face, lacking any meaning behind it. “I’m dying. For real this time.”

* * * * *

Steve pulls his mask over his face, stepping out into the night. Looking round, he sees (with relief) that no one’s chosen to follow him. The rest of the team has been eyeing him with a shy kind of sorrow that he just can’t deal with right now.

Steve snatches the odd-looking pair of goggles JARVIS had dispensed for him at the entrance of Avengers HQ, and makes a run for it.

He thinks he must be crazy--running around with one of Tony Stark’s inventions in an attempt to find the Zodiac, but he keeps telling himself he’s going to make this right. He has to.

“A recent analysis of the Zodiac Key has proven its power leaves traces of energy in its wake,” JARVIS had informed him matter-of-factly, “as many high-energy artifacts often do. Upon wearing the Energy Detectors, Captain, you would be able to physically see these traces, which may lead to the Zodiac themselves.”

He makes his way east, toward the center of the battle--Tony’s last. All he has to do is put on the goggles when he gets there, and, boom--according to JARVIS, he’ll be able to see where the Key’s been, and follow the trail to where it is now.

Steve hopes it’s that simple, anyway.

He’d thought of taking one of Tony’s elaborate mini helicopters to where he needs to go, but he’d deemed it too risky--the last thing he needs is to draw attention to himself. _May as well walk. I need the exercise. And the space._

He turns a corner, his mind a racing broken record of _I can do this. I have to do this_ , and his heart races with something he’s trying to convince himself is readiness, and he’s so distracted by his own thoughts that he nearly bumps right into the person standing smack-dab in the middle of the sidewalk--who happens to be Director Nick Fury.

Cap freezes, but recovers quickly with a curt nod as he addresses, “Sir."

Fury stands with his arms folded. There are no copters surrounding him. Agent Hill, who is normally by his side at every turn, is absent. In the moonlight his shadow stands tall, all but looming over Cap’s. “I’m only gonna say this once: turn around and go home.”

“What?”

”Do you really think SHIELD was gonna let you all off on your own after everything that‘s happened? We know what you‘re planning to do, Captain. And I say, go home.”

Cap laughs humorlessly. ”So you‘ve been spying on us. On me.”

“We’re doing what we damn well have to in order to make sure this team stands its ground--”

“Think we can’t handle losing one of our own, sir? I lost a lot during the war. The Avengers have all lost a whole lot in their lives. It’s part of why they’re here.” Steve does not break eye contact with Fury as he speaks. “I’m doing what _I_ have to do, sir. So please. Step aside.”

There is a heated bout of silence for a fraction of a moment. Then Fury says, “Sorry, Captain. We’re not letting you face the Zodiac on your own. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re a leader of a _team_. Granted it’s a dysfunctional one, but they obey _your_ orders, and if you think you’re gonna fling yourself into danger--”

“I don’t need to get them involved anymore. I made a bad call, and now one of ours . . .” He takes a shuddering breath. “Tony’s dead. This is my responsibility, now.”

“Of everyone, Captain--of all the heroes who have come together to keep this world safe, you of all people know that having a team means _sharing_ responsibility. You know _damn well_ going at this alone is gonna hurt more than help. And this is your choice?”

Steve drowns trying to find his voice, barely choking out, “Yes.”

“Well, you’re a fool.” Fury reaches forward and snatches the goggles from Steve’s grip. “By the way--and this is me threatening you--try and pull this again, and I will _make_ you stand down.”

Cap does nothing to hide the rage behind his eyes as he turns on his heel and starts to walk way.

“And Cap?”

He stops in his tracks, half-turning to glance at Fury. The fiery intensity of his expression has mellowed just a bit into a small frown. “The leader--the Captain America _I_ know would be working on devising a plan _with his team_ to overcome the enemy.” He clasps his hands behind his back. “Grief, Captain, is a powerful thing. I know." The word-- _grief_ \--latches itself onto Steve’s consciousness, lingering there. “It’s made you start to think irrationally. And that’s the last thing we need. Understand?”

Cap says nothing as Fury finishes, turning on his heel: “Go home. Get some sleep.”

But Steve can’t bring himself to go home. Not now.

So he goes to Tony Stark‘s freshly dug grave instead.

Brushing a hand along the headstone, all he can think is how cold it is. And of how Tony was the opposite--glowing, bright red, always.

“Hi, Tony." He finds himself peering up at the sky, wondering childishly if wherever Tony is, he could hear Steve more clearly that way. “Fury’s right, you know. You’ve got me all mixed up. As usual." He chuckles a little. “I’m supposed to be the Man with a Plan, right? Well, my plan got you killed, Tony. And I wish every second that I could go back. But I can’t.”

He watches the stars twinkle, and it makes him feel smaller than ever, standing alone by the grave void of a body. “I keep thinking if you were here, you’d just laugh all this off. I keep wondering . . . what you would do or say, if you were in my place. And I . . . I can’t stop thinking about how you’re out there. Somewhere. There are so many things I wanted to say before . . . before you went, and . . . I can’t help but wonder . . . up there, when you went away . . .”

Steve lets the sentence fall. He walks home. Tears sting his eyes. Silently, his thoughts complete his out-loud musings, with nothing but his own mind to hear:

_I wonder if you were smiling._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me in complete awe that you guys stuck around for a second chapter. That makes me really happy. Here's where I start jumping from POV to POV like it's the only thing I know how to do, so bear with me. Also, everything and anything I write in terms of Alfheim is entirely made up. You don't get to see Alfheim much in the comics, and I think it's been in a cartoon or two, but otherwise I felt I was open to basically make it look however the heck I wanted. Hence the purple trees and such. Enjoy! DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Not even Eminem.

_“What is this infernal garbage, Tony? Is this what you call music?”_

_It was a Sunday. Tony was driving with the top down, the wind blowing in his face, and he was grinning. “This, Grandpa,” he addressed Steve in the passenger seat, “is what the 21st century calls music. Don’t hate Eminem, appreciate--”_

_“Who, now? Last time I checked that was a candy . . . ?”_

_“--and anyway, the one thing I don’t have control of is what they play on the radio. Most of the time. Once I paid 106.3 to play a whole day of Black Sabbath while I worked in the lab--oh, God, I keep forgetting you missed the Black Sabbath era. Rock band. One of the best, like, ever.”_

_He could see Steve’s gob-smacked expression out of his peripheral vision. “Tony, if I remember right, 106.3 is a_ country _station.”_

_“Heh. I know.”_

_Steve broke into a grin, and his incredulous chuckle swirled around Tony like an unfamiliar, but really good song. “You’re ridiculous, Stark.”_

_“Two months living at my place and having known me for a chunk of time before that, and you’re_ just _figuring that out? Anyway, I’ll take it as a compliment.” Tony skidded to a stop at a red light (just barely--but he figured if there were anyone he shouldn’t run red lights with, it would be by-the-book Steve Rogers). “Considering your usual adjectives to describe me are ‘self-absorbed’ and ‘ostentatious’, or something synonymous to those.”_

_Steve’s smile faltered. “Well.” He shrugged. “Maybe you’re not so bad. Sometimes.”_

_Tony tilted his head toward Cap a little, and winked. “You just want me for my Ferrari.”_

_There was a half-beat of pause between them, as Tony‘s flirting crept up on Cap and caused his face to flush just the slightest shade of pink. Tony half-wondered if he‘d gone too far--his dynamic with Steve, it was safe to say, was still a little rocky. While the other Avengers had settled into Stark Tower quite nicely, Steve still spent the majority of his time alone, trying to figure the world out. And Tony had no idea where to begin trying to figure_ him _out._

_But occasionally people are surprising, and this moment had been no exception for Tony. Steve’s voice rang out, sing-song and amused:_

_“You got me.” He raised his hands in defeat. “It really is a nice car.”_

_Tony was pretty sure that if his jaw had the ability to drop to the ground, it would have. “Oh, my God. Is the Capsicle making a_ joke _? Alert the press!”_

_“Shut up, Stark.” But Steve’s toothy grin canceled out any further attempt he could possibly make at feigning annoyance, and Tony had to say--he liked this._

_This--driving Steve around, showing him the bright, new, modern city to replace Steve’s decades-old images of the world; hearing his genuine laughter mixed in with the afternoon breeze._

_Maybe he a bit more than liked it._

_“You are, you know,” Steve said suddenly._

_“Hm?”_

_“Self-centered and ostentatious,” was the captain’s flat reply, and Tony had a right mind to threaten to turn the car right the hell around until he heard those next crucial words: “But you’re a lot more than that, too. You’re not fooling anyone.”_

_Tony suddenly wanted to ask and say a lot of things then, not the least of which being,_ Maybe there’s a lot more to both of us _. But instead all he could do was bite back a smile and keep his eyes on the road, thinking--with the Manhattan sun beating down on him and with the presence of this strange, elusive person in the passenger seat who’d in a few words made Tony feel like maybe he really could be more than he is, if he wanted to--that he’d never felt so . . ._

_Alive._

“Are you truly dying, Tony Stark?”

The boy’s voice gently lifts Tony from his half-dream. He blinks himself fully awake and coughs, glaring pointedly at Stop-Han. “Haven’t we been through this? Yeah. I’m dying. I told you. Just leave me here and go on your yellow brick road to . . . wherever it is you’re going.” Drawing his knees up to his chest, he sighs, tilting his head up toward the light dancing on his face. He's still yet to determine where the actual sun is around here. It's too bright to look up for very long, and Tony finds his eyes sliding shut after only a few moments. He tries not to think about how extreme fatigue practically radiating from his every pore is a contributing factor as well.

But the elf does nothing except sit beside Tony at the foot of the purple tree where he’d slumped a few minutes prior. “Why?" _Kids. Always asking the universal philosophical question, no matter what realm you’re in._

“Why am I dying?” Tony shrugs. “Because evidently, this nifty little element--alloy, whatever--I created to keep myself alive isn’t compatible with whatever elements--you have no idea what I’m saying, do you?”

Stop-Han shakes his head, and Tony turns his a little to meet unwavering blue eyes. “Okay, you know what lets you breathe here? It’s different than what lets me breathe on Earth. And this little thingamabob--” He gestures to the arc reactor. “--I made it to protect my heart. And it isn’t equipped to handle the stuff that lets people breathe on Alfheim. Asgard. Neither. Both. I don’t know . . .” He waves a dismissive hand. “Now go on with your bow and arrow and go find the ring in Mordor--”

“You sa you are dying,” the elf interrupts, rising to his feet again, “but your limbs still move. Your lips still part to make words. Your mind hums with knowledge. Is that not enough?”

Tony does nothing to hide his genuine confusion. “Enough for what?”

“Enough to keep going." Stop-Han slings his bow over his shoulder. “The outskirts of the city of Alfheim lie ahead. We must hasten if we are to bring you to safety. The nearest gateway to Asgard City is not for many--”

“Quick question here--why do you even care?" Tony closes his eyes again. He isn’t sure if he’s saying half the words, or just thinking them--he can only partly feel them tumble from his consciousness to his mouth, no spaces in between, fevered: “You almost shot at me a few times back there. You don’t trust the wacky guy with the armor. I get that. So just go home. I’ll be fine here. I’m getting a tan, I think--”

“Do you not want to live?” The voice is boyish, and yet the question comes from a place far beyond its years. “Tony Stark, you must not give up. While you still breathe, there is always time.”

Tony opens his eyes again, and stares. His vision doubles, zooms in and out of focus, but when he squints, he sees it--the fire behind the elf’s blues, intense enough that Tony can almost feel their sparks burning his skin.

“You remind me of someone,” is all he can manage to say before gingerly standing up to follow the boy once more, though he can’t quite think of whom.

* * * * *

“Jane. Pssst. Jane.”

At the incessant whispering of her name, Jane turns in her seat to face Darcy, annoyed. “What?”

“Since when are we allowed at these debriefing things?” Darcy hisses, leaning in and shifting her gaze awkwardly around the table. Jane follows her eyes: Nick Fury is at the head of the room talking with Agent Hill. Across the way is a very distracted-looking Steve Rogers, Dr. Banner sitting on his right. Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton are mysteriously absent. Jane can’t help but notice how utterly vacant the meeting room on the 15th floor of Stark Tower seems to be.

About as vacant as the good old Captain’s expression. He’s staring down at the wooden table, having said not a word for the past ten minutes. Then again, he hasn‘t said much for the past few _days_ , not that Jane can recall, anyway. “I think,” she mutters back to Darcy, “the attendance at these things is seriously lacking lately. So we get a free pass.”

“Sweet.” Darcy resumes her obnoxious chewing of bubble gum, and Jane is _this_ close to reaching over and yanking it right out of her mouth when Fury pipes up:

“All right.” He takes a moment to look around the room briefly. “You’ve probably noticed Agents Barton and Romanoff are not present. There was a potential lead on the location of at least one of the Zodiac. With any luck, we’ll be able to get at least some information as to how to obtain the Key. It has come to my attention--” He glares pointedly at Cap, which leads Jane to believe she must be missing something, but she listens on. “--that one of Tony Stark’s many little inventions might be able to assist us on that front. He has in his lab a pair of energy-detecting goggles. They have yet to be tested, but should they prove to be useful, we may attempt to replicate these goggles. Mr. Stark was obviously our go-to engineer. But it's probably best if someone from the team who knew Stark personally takes a look at how the things work to begin with."

Dr. Banner’s calm voice pitches in: “I could take a look at the plans, if Tony has them somewhere.” He shakes his head a little, as if to jostle away his misuse of the present tense. “ _Had_ them, I mean. Um. I mean if they’re, you know. In his lab.”

“That’s what we were counting on, Doctor,” Fury nods.

Then it’s Maria Hill’s turn to speak, and Jane finds herself jumping a little as the agent says, “Miss Foster. Have you had any luck regarding the nexus-portal to Asgard?”

“Um.” Jane feels all eyes on her, now, and runs a hand through her hair awkwardly, “The only thing I’ve been able to gather from my analysis is that it’s been severed. I’m not sure if it’s a permanent thing. Nexus-portals are hard to find. I’m hoping Thor can find another one somehow, to get back to us.” _Back to me_ , she can’t help but add mentally.

There’s a bout of defeated quiet, when suddenly, it’s none other than Darcy's voice filling the empty air:

“Uh, guys? Um. I was just wondering, I mean . . ."

Fury tilts his head upward a little, brow furrowed skeptically. Jane exchanges a glance with her that basically says, _What the hell are you doing?_ , but Darcy goes on: “Hasn’t anyone noticed there could be some kind of connection here?”

More silence. Darcy makes a little nervous laugh and says, “Oh. Okay. Guess not. I mean, I was just thinking. I know no one’s really wanted to talk about it directly ‘cause, I mean. All this stuff going on, it really sucks.”

 _Darcy. Please shut up._ Jane hopes her wild-eyed expression is conveying her words.

“But I mean. I don’t think it was a coincidence that the portal to and from Thor’s world just happened to collapse around the same time that Tony, um . . .” She flails her hands a little, and oh, God, Jane is actually embarrassed for her, and she’s about to grab her by the elbow and just haul the hell out of there when . . . 

When Captain America is staring at Darcy with such intensity that Jane thinks he might bore a hole through her best friend’s forehead. It’s the first time he’s shown interest in any part of the discussion.

“It’s possible . . . ” Fury finally says to break the uncomfortable quiet, and he opens his mouth to say something else when Cap cuts him off:

“No, it makes sense.” He leans forward in his chair. “I mean, having Thor here with us is always a plus. It could’ve been part of the Zodiac’s plan all along to make sure he couldn’t come back. At least not before they get rid of all of us, starting with--” A pained expression crosses his face, quick as the flash of a camera, but Jane catches it. “--starting with Tony. They knew what Tony’s weakness was--they sent him into the _air_ and out of the atmosphere--”

“--And hypothetically, if what we’re assuming is true here,” Bruce muses aloud, catching on, “they must’ve known about Thor, too. They must be connected to someone on the inside. Someone who knows us.”

There is a new, buzzing energy in the room as everyone mulls over this possibility. Jane nudges Darcy affectionately, who shrugs sheepishly. Just then, adding to the charge of the moment, there is a loud _boom_ coming from the doorway.

Clint and Natasha stand with a few armed SHIELD agents behind them, and in their arms is what Jane can only describe as a burly guy who’s really enthusiastic about the color blue. He’s slumped over, seemingly unconscious, and that’s when Natasha’s voice chimes enthusiastically into the room:

“Everyone say hello to Aquarius.”

* * * * *

“Are we stopping? Great, good, yeah, okay, I’m just gonna--wow, this grass is comfortable--why are we stopping, though?”

Stop-Han appears to be sifting through the surrounding bushes in the clearing at which they’ve stopped after trekking for what seemed like hours. “For sustenance, Tony Stark.”

“Oh. Right.” Tony promptly falls back onto the grass with a _thud_ , folding his arms behind his head. “So. Out of curiosity, how old are you? Because when I was your height I wasn’t running around equipped with a bow and arrow.” He pauses thoughtfully. “. . . I was probably drawing up building plans for treehouses or something. But I digress.”

He can see the boy collecting, well, something-or-other into his tunic, the lower half of which he has made into a kind of basket to carry his findings. “I will be one and ten in a fortnight,” he answers absently.

“You could’ve just said ‘almost eleven’, but that’s cool, too,” Tony mutters, “And anyway, what’re you running around in the woods alone for? Does your family live here or whatever?”

The boy stops in mid-movement, posture suddenly rigid. It’s then Tony realizes he’s struck some kind of nerve. And he knows he should keep out of it, but, hell, he’s dying anyway so if the kid turns on him with an arrow it doesn’t really matter; he _has_ to ask: “Do . . . do you have family, kid? Mom or dad? Siblings?’

“No.” The elf’s tone is solemn. “Not anymore.”

“Oh.” Tony picks at a blade of grass awkwardly. “Right.”

Stop-Han makes his way back toward Tony again, taking a seat beside him. “Things are different now. It is much easier for me to travel alone." He opens his mouth to say something more, then shuts it again. As if there are many things lingering on his lips that he is unsure of speaking.

The personal factor of the conversation weighs uncomfortably on Tony, but he figures he owes this boy--who’s helping him, for whatever reason--his full attention. “What, um. What happened to them? If you don’t mind my asking,” he says tentatively.

The elf peers down at the food in his hands--strange multi-colored berries, by the looks of them--avoiding Tony’s eyes as he replies, “A year ago, Asgard was on the brink of divide. This is because of a bad man called Loki Laufeyson.” Tony’s breath hitches at the name in spite of himself, but he says nothing, waiting for the boy to finish: “In Asgard City, he attempted to overthrow the peace Odin had built. Though the mighty Thor returned from Midgard just in time to make things right, there were still many repercussions. Here on Alfheim, some were inspired by Loki’s empty promises in the city. There were fits of rebellion, and some were appointed to stop it. My papa--” The elf cuts himself off, turning away slightly, and Tony wonders if it’s his broken arc reactor talking but he feels a twinge in the center of his chest as the boy’s story unfolds. “Alfheim is a peaceful place. But it is different, now. My papa went away to protect Alfheim and he did not return. Everyone I knew went away. So I have made the forest my home.”

Silence, as Tony drinks in this information and the elf swims in the significance of sharing it. Then: “You know . . .” Tony sits up a little, trying to catch the boy’s eye. “I don’t have family, either.” At this, the boy turns back to face him with curiosity. “And Loki? I agree. He’s a pretty bad guy. I’ve had a run-in or two with him myself.” He coughs a little, his body disagreeing with the whole idea of talking. And breathing. And existing.

Genuine disbelief flashes across Stop-Han’s expression as he asks, “You have truly fought Loki, the trickster?”

“Yeah. And he brought with him more mischief and mayhem than anyone was prepared for. See, on Earth--Midgard, whatever--I sort of fight bad guys. Occasionally. On this team . . . called the Avengers. Thor is one of them.”

At this point, the elf leans back onto the grass at Tony’s level, propping himself up on an elbow. His eyes are alight with interest, and it’s the first time he really does look like a typical eleven-year-old boy full of curiosity instead of just a worn-out someone who’s seen too much for his years. “You assisted the return of Thor and Loki to Asgard.”

“Right on.” And suddenly, at the boy’s eager face, Tony finds himself swerving into a recount of a tale he knows by heart. He talks about the first assembling of the Avengers. About how no one really got along at first, too busy trying to figure themselves out before even attempting to band together as a team. He recounts Loki‘s plan to bring an all-destroying army to Earth, and how in the end, the team managed to pull together and save the world. “. . . And after that, I mean, none of us really spoke for a while. Went off to do our own thing. But gradually--everyone realized it just made sense for all of us to be in one place, you know? Fighting the good fight." He pushes himself up into a sitting position, gesturing animatedly as he describes his teammates. Thor, he needs not explain: “His hammer really is pretty boss, though. But I’m sure you know that. Also he likes Pop Tarts. A lot."

“Pop Tarts . . . ?"

“Long story. Black Widow; she could kick you into next Tuesday in a heartbeat. There’s the Hulk, who’s big and green and when he really puts his mind to it can 'smash’ an entire enemy army without hurting a single civilian. Considering his anger-management issues, that’s an almost unimaginable feat." He makes his hands into fists, growing out a roaring kind of noise, which sends Stop-Han into fits of giggles. “Hawkeye--he’s got a bow and arrow, just like you, and believe me when I say he knows how to use it. And then there’s our sort-of leader, Captain America.” Tony pauses, looking up at the sky, which has not changed in its orange-yellow haze despite the length of their travels. “Steve. He’s really old-fashioned, and really in-your-face, and a control freak sometimes which doesn’t really settle well with me because control is something I both seriously lack, and really love when I do have it.” He chuckles. “But he’s okay. He’s . . . he’s just genuinely _good_. It’s weird. I don’t think I know anyone else like him. I probably never will.” He grins a little. “And he doesn’t like Eminem.”

The elf nods thoughtfully. “You care for him. This captain.”

“I . . .” Tony trails off for a moment, the words spinning around him, teasing. _You care for him._ He covers with a nonchalant query: “What do you mean?”

“In describing your other comrades, your words revolve around what they can _do_ ,” Stop-Han replies, “Whereas regarding the captain, you speak of the things he _is_.”

Tony attributes the heat rising in his face to the warmth of the Alfheim woods. He shrugs. “I, um. I never really thought of it that way.” Clearing his throat bluntly, he rises, holding his arms out a little to steady the dizziness that floods his head with the brisk movement. “Shouldn’t we keep going? Lead the way to Oz, Toto.”

Stop-Han shoots him a confused glance before heading east through the brush, and Tony can’t help but think that a certain someone would’ve gotten that reference, and as his heart clenches in his chest he feels death on his heels--so he thinks of speeding Ferraris, laughter, and feeling very much alive.

* * * * *

“Father.” Thor Odinson’s voice is pleading, echoing through the dimly lit throne room. His father the king sits high in his chair. “I know you are wary of the nexus-portals. But it is through one of those gateways, at the edge of the Sea of Space, that I have been able to communicate with Midgard since the destruction of the Bifrost--”

“--You must remember your duties to Asgard. The nexus-portals are few and far between, my son. They should not be your primary concern.” Odin’s stare is hard, looming over Thor, whose determination does not falter.

“This portal--it has been destroyed. Something, some great force, has disrupted it. What could have been so powerful to do this, father?” he asks, “I must know. The Midgardians--Jane, they--”

“They do not rely on you as we do, Thor. Your responsibilities are here. On Asgard. Your br . . .” Odin’s speech cuts off sharply for a moment. He straightens in his seat. “Loki must be dealt with.”

Thor can’t help the rise in his voice as he retorts, “I have dealt with him for many long days and nights! He is . . . he is not who he once was. Imprisonment has done nothing to change his heart--he does nothing but talk to himself for hours on end. Father, you have refused to see him. To see reason. If you could just understand--”

“He has betrayed us all! Many times over,” the echo of Odin’s booming voice cuts into Thor’s speech. The thick tension of this truth lingers in the room for a small moment. “It is just as well that you remain here,” Odin says, and his tone has a finite edge to it, keeping Thor from saying anything more.

In the depths of the castle, however, among the dank and dark, Loki Laufeyson is laughing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, there. I've moved back into school this week, so chances are I won't have time to be editing this very much--it is complete and drafts of all 8 chapters are up on this site . . . but if the writing seems a little choppier, my apologies. /college student blaming school for everything
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this chapter. There's lots of sap. And feelings. As usual, my DISCLAIMER is that I own absolutely nothing.

Hate is a very strong word, Steve’s mother used to say.

He would come home with a black eye or two, sleeves rolled up and disheveled and bloody. Sarah Rogers would sit him down at the tiny kitchen table, hold a cool cloth to his head, and say, “Steven, why do you have to go looking for trouble?”

And being the self-conscious, bumbling age of fourteen, Steve would always say, “I don’t, Ma. Trouble finds me.” He would relate the day’s mishaps to her, talking on and on about how Johnny and Dan and Will would taunt him day in and day out at school. “I’m sick of being ‘Scrawny Steve.’ I _hate_ them. I hate them all.”

Sarah would brush a few strands of Steve’s unruly blonde hair out of his face. “Hate is a very strong word, Steve. To have hate for anyone, even a few boys at school, only means you have hate in your heart,” she’d say.

So after she died, Steve made an effort not to have hate in his heart, even when it seemed most tempting.

But now, as he looms over Aquarius tied to a chair, he can only think of one word to describe the hot, red emotion coloring his senses: _hate_. Nick Fury sits at a table across from their captive. Since Natasha and Clint brought him in two hours ago, this has been the state of things: silence as Nick Fury asks questions that receive no answers, and, now that Steve has just entered the room, fuming hatred.

Aquarius grins at him, teeth tinted a shade of revolting blue. “I have seen your face in the papers, Captain,” he drawls, and even Fury looks surprised at the Zodiac member‘s decision to speak, “What do your people think of you now?”

Fury is about to say something, when Cap replies, seething, “I know they want me to make sure you bastards never set foot in their city again. And believe me.” He leans forward, placing his hands on either side of the head of the chair. “I will.”

“Captain Rogers,” Fury mutters in warning, and reluctantly, Steve falls back, crossing his arms over his chest. Fury’s giving him a look that says something like, _Maybe it was a bad idea letting you in here_. But he goes on, “I’m gonna ask you one more time, Aquarius, before I bring my people in here: Where is the Zodiac Key?”

Aquarius chuckles. “You are delusional in thinking I would ever tell you. And what does it matter? This city is slowly falling to chaos. And so will you, in attempting to stop it. Scorpio and my brothers will strike, whether I am with them or not. And you will all perish.”

Cap decides he’s had enough of this nonsense. He promptly moves forward again, punches Aquarius in the face, and all but shouts, “Tell me where the key is that killed Tony Stark!”

“Your comrade was a pathetic excuse of an obstacle in the way of the brethren," Aquarius spits, blood creeping out of the corners of his mouth. “We fed on his weakness. And you just couldn’t let those pathetic little mortals in the crossfire meet their end, could you?" Steve grinds his jaw, taking quick, shallow breaths in an attempt to keep his composure. “It was too easy---the man hiding behind a suit of armor. No match for the mighty Key. Take the suit away, and what is left?”

The speech grates against Cap’s ears, too familiar for his own liking, for he remembers that evening on the Helicarrier, towering over Tony Stark, his own words like daggers: _Big man in a suit of armor. Take that away and what are you?_

Steve slams the back of the chair into the wall. “More than you could ever begin to imagine, scumbag.”

He feels Fury’s hand on his arm, attempting to yank him backward. Steve complies, breathing hard, and Fury whispers in his ear, “I think you’ve had enough, Captain. Bring me Black Widow, please.”

And no matter how angry he is, how badly he wants to show this guy who’s boss, Steve knows he’s just been given an order. It’s his responsibility to follow.

And a part of him is afraid of what he might do if he lingers in the interrogation room one more second. He starts toward the door, stopping only to meet Aquarius’ eyes for the final time. The creature chuckles lowly, and yes. Steve thinks he may have to break the promise he made to his mother’s gravestone just this once. All he can feel in his heart now--filling his head, his lungs, his very core--is contempt.

* * * * *

Tony smiles, feeling the sensation of rough but familiar fingers in his hair. His eyes are closed--to keep them open is to exert a whole lot of effort he’s not sure he has in him anymore--but this feeling is one he refuses to let himself sleep away.

The voice that greets him is beautifully familiar--low, aged with experience yet lodged in time. “You’re burning up, Stark.”

Tony sighs contentedly and says through cracked lips, “Steve.” He can picture him so well--blue eyes shining, furrowed brow, slightly flushed cheeks, and large hands in Tony’s hair.

“You have to stay awake, Tony.” His tone is firm, in that I’m-Captain-America-and-I’m-the-boss kind of way. “There’s only a little ways to go now. And then you can come home.”

“Home.” Tony’s voice is thick, raspy in his throat, gasping. “Yeah. That sounds. Yeah.”

Steve takes a long breath. “We want you to come back, Tony. _I_ want you to come back.”

“I’d like a few shots of tequila and a large cheese pizza,” Tony retorts, “but we can’t always get what we want.”

Then laughter. The best thing about Steve, Tony decides right then and there, is his laughter, the kind he hears driving Steve around in ridiculously expensive cars. The kind he hears when they’re fighting over the remote in the games room back at his tower. “I’ve missed . . .” He cuts himself off, partially because his throat is too dry to utter another syllable, and also because he's afraid of how he might end that sentence.

“You're giving up, Stark. I can tell. You have to keep moving."

Tony frowns. “I'm dying, Cap. Haven't you heard?" He squeezes his eyes shut even further for emphasis. “Remember the Zodiac decided to play baseball with me and the Key was the bat? In case you forgot. . . " He coughs. “I was the ball."

“But it had to be you, Tony. And now it has to be you to come home." His hands never cease brushing against Tony's forehead, kneading through his hair, and Tony thinks if he has to die at all he'd want to go right here, right now. “You can get yourself out of this.”

“I think," replies Tony, “and I’m only going to say this once, never again, so take advantage of it while you can--you overestimate my intelligence. Someone get that on tape or something? Because I totally just--" Cough. “Said it." Wheeze.

There is a pause, and Tony's starting to panic; the absence of Steve's voice is throwing him off, making the nausea already present in the pit of his stomach start to bubble. But then Steve says, “It's not about intelligence. It's about willpower. I know you have it. Now, Tony . . . you have to open your eyes."

“No.” Tony shakes his head a little, and the mere movement makes his insides swim. “No, just . . . why can’t we just stay here? Just let me sleep, Steve. I want to sleep.”

“Open your eyes, Tony. For me."

It's odd, how Steve making the command into a personal request makes it softer, makes it . . . worthwhile. Tony takes a shuddering breath, letting his lids flutter open.

Blue eyes pierce through his own, surrounded by the bright orange-yellow sky, and it's Steve; oh, God, it's Steve come to take him home, peering down at him with that absolute concern only he can muster. Tony gingerly lifts a hand to reach up, up, grasping at a promise finally kept, when--

\--when he blinks. And Stop-Han is gazing at him with a combination of genuine confusion and palpable worry. “Tony Stark? Are you all right?"

“Wh --where's--what happened?" Tony tries to sit up, realizing he already sort of is--his head is in Stop-Han's lap as the boy gingerly places some green thing or other on Tony's forehead. Moss? Tony isn't sure he really cares. He's still stuck on the ‘where's Steve' factor.

“We were treading northeast when you succumbed to a fainting spell. I have placed moss soaked with river water on your forehead to calm your raging fever--"

“Steve." Tony sits up fully, and, at the sudden movement, promptly leans over and vomits. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, turning sharply to Stop-Han, who remains knelt behind him. “Steve was here. Steve Rogers. The captain. Where’d he go?"

Stop-Han frowned. “Yes. You said his name quite frequently. Your imaginings have--"

“Imaginings? Whoa, whoa." Tony runs a hand over his face. “I didn't imagine anything, Frodo. He was _here._ He . . ."

Tony stares at the grass, unable to speak. He may have a shrapnel finally worming its way to his heart, but he's not stupid. Stop-Han is looking at him with something like sympathy, which aggravates Tony maybe more than it should. But Tony figures if a ten-year-old elf is sitting with moss in his hands showing you pity, you really need to re-evaluate your life.

“I was hallucinating," he concludes, and decides the break in his voice is due to the fact that his throat is so dry, “Right."

Hot wetness pricks the back of his eyes, and Tony realizes all over again that he's not coming out of this, however optimistic his little illusions and the elf at his side may be. “Shit," he says eloquently. The elf scoots up beside him, and they sit in the silence of a nightmare realized.

* * * * *

“I honestly don’t know how she does it,” Bruce Banner mumbles incredulously, removing his glasses.

Everyone is crowded around the two-way mirror outside the interrogation room, watching Natasha Romanoff pace back and forth in front of a bemused Aquarius.

Darcy shakes her head. “He doesn’t even know who he’s dealing with. Look at him. I wanna see her rough him up or something--”

“Don’t encourage her,” Clint interjects, but his lips quirk upward despite his serious tone. “And anyway, this is what Nat does. She talks people down to their very basest selves, and gets them to tell her whatever information she needs.”

Bruce squints through the mirror, watching the interrogation unfold. He can practically feel the tenseness rolling off Cap who stands rigid beside him, and he almost wants to give the guy a few tips on how to relax. Fury had just kicked him out of the room to bring in Natasha, and Bruce is starting to wonder if maybe pushing Steve out or away or in any direction right now isn’t the best approach. Bruce would know. When people start pushing him around, he goes a little green.

So he leans over and says, “Hey. You okay?”

“Hm?” Steve turns a little to face Bruce, and shrugs. “Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

The sudden shift in dynamic, the absence of Tony Stark has weighed heavily on everyone at HQ, but not more so, Bruce thinks, than on Steve. The press are adamant about the fact that it had been the Captain’s call to leave Tony at the hands of the Zodiac. Bruce remembers sitting in the kitchen, talking it over with his fellow teammates.

“We’re losing him,” Clint had said, “and fast. _We_ know what happened--and it was an honest mistake. But the thing is Cap’s the one out of all of us who believes the shit the media’s saying--”

“If we’re being honest with ourselves,” Natasha had interjected, “It’s not all crap. Cap did make the call for us to stay in-position. He didn’t do it on purpose; it could’ve happened to any one of us, but--”

Bruce hadn't liked where the conversation was headed. “Look," he'd said, “I don't think it's our place to judge. Cap's taking this real hard. But he's doing the best he can."

It's an awkward conversation that continues to be half-brought up among everyone, but always lingers in the air with the same question: _What do we do now?_ Bruce is sort of hoping whatever Natasha gets out of Aquarius in the next few minutes will help out with that. Because if he's honest with himself, Bruce sort of likes being part of a team. Watching it unravel isn't something he wants to do anymore.

Natasha's voice in the other room cuts into his thoughts, and she appears to be working her magic on Aquarius: “So, why not fight back? Twenty bucks says you could break free of these chains if you wanted to.”

Aquarius continues to grin in a very unsettling way that makes the hair on the back of Bruce’s neck stand up. “Chaos is falling. I would like to watch it unfold.”

“Huh.” Natasha shrugs. “Fair enough. Chaos. I mean. I gotta hand it to you. Stark was your first order of business. Without all his tech he's basically useless."

Her words have an edge to them, and Bruce likes to think it's all for show. But you never really know with Natasha. Aquarius snickers. “Eliminate even the weakest link of a team and it crumbles."

“You know, our Captain deeply dislikes you." Natasha perches on the edge of the table across from Aquarius. “Clocked you a good one, didn't he? That's not like him."

Cap freezes next to Bruce, who bites his lip awkwardly as Aquarius replies, “The Captain operates on morality. A foolish way to be. It is interesting to see him so . . . off his mark."

“Right." Natasha turns a little, exchanging a significant glance with her reflection.

Bruce shakes his head slowly. “Morality." He looks at Steve, hoping he'll catch on, but he receives a puzzled stare in reply, so he adds, “He's talking like he _knows_ you, Cap."

“So, what?" Clint asks, “They were watching us long before all this went down? Doesn't make sense that we’d let them slip under the radar. SHIELD monitors this kind of thing real close."

“We didn't," interjects Fury flatly, “because they weren't. What Dr. Banner was suggesting earlier, though, is starting to look a hell of a lot more plausible."

Bruce nods a little. “Okay, so clearly Aquarius is getting his info from somewhere. The Zodiac used Steve’s morality as a leader against him." He flickers his gaze to Cap for a quick moment, who looks very pale. “These guys gotta have connections with someone who knows us. Who knows our weaknesses, who's seen us on the field before, seen how we interact as a team?"

The questions are barely out of his mouth before the answer becomes apparent, practically falling onto the collective consciousness in the room.

It's Cap who says it, his voice complete with a determination that Bruce hasn't heard in a while: “Loki."

* * * * *

Tony Stark and the boy from Alfheim sit in silence for what seems like hours, until the elf moves forward, holding out his hand. The little multi-colored berries are bright against his pale skin. “You must eat, Tony Stark," he says.

Tony eyes the berries for a moment. “Are those going to be the last ones you have for a while? I mean, those bushes you found . . . I haven't seen those since . . ." He waves a hand absently. “How many days has it been? I can't tell what with it being perpetually yellowish-orange around here."

Stop-Han smiles a little. Tony figures going back to joking around seems like the best bet for the both of them. “Silly Tony Stark. Did you not notice the two suns? When they make a complete rotation around one another, it has been a full day. We have been traveling for six."

“Oh. I guess that explains the orange and the yellow." Tony squints up at the sky, and sure enough--the bright lights turn out to be bright bulbs when you look at them long enough, which Tony's never bothered to until now. Alfheim's own suns, each a different yet closely related color. “Where I come from we only have one. So." He shrugs, and the effort of it makes him wince.

Behind the boy’s expression is a question. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again before Tony says, “All right, kid. What are you giving me that look for?”

“On Midgard, is there someone you desire more than anything to come home to?” Stop-Han asks. _Smart kid._ Tony knows the meaning behind his question. He wants to give Tony motivation. To keep moving. To survive. And as an inquisitive child of almost-eleven, he’s probably wondering just why the hell Tony keeps muttering a particular name in his fevered sleep. It’s a valid question. Tony figures he owes the kid an answer.

He sighs. “I mean . . . it’s complicated. There’s this girl, Pepper, and she's great. More than great. But we . . . well, we didn’t want to say anything, but we’ve sort of. Been broken up for almost a month now. We were together for a really long time and we sort of felt it was best for business and all-around if we just kept everyonee under the impression that we still are. I mean, it’s almost like we are--why am I telling you this?" The elf doesn’t seem to be complaining, and he tilts his head in interest, so Tony continues, “Anyway. Pep knows more about me than anyone. And I can pretty much convince her to do anything.” He chuckles, thinking of freckled Pepper Potts and her resolute ‘I-am-going-to-kill-you’ face. It was the last look she’d given him over Skype when they’d spoken about some contract or other concerning the branch in Malibu not too long ago. “So. We’re still really close. But . . . otherwise, I . . . I dunno.”

“What about the good Captain?”

Tony closes his eyes, shaking his head slightly. “I knew that was coming. Look, I take no responsibility for anything my dying brain chooses to make me spew into the open; got that, kid? Steve . . . Steve is just . . .” He waves his hands in exasperation, searching desperately for the right words, only to find he can’t. So he settles on these: “He’s just always there.”

That’ll have to do for the damn kid whether he likes it or not, Tony thinks decidedly, and when the elf asks no more questions he’s just a little more than relieved.

“Here, Tony Stark." After a moment, the boy holds out his hand even further, his eyes pleading. The innocence behind the gesture--feeding the last few berries to a dying man--is almost poetic, if Tony were into that sort of thing.

He responds, “We’ll share them, okay?", and this seems to satisfy the elf, who finds a little clearing for them in which to eat.

It's then, popping a green berry into his mouth that tastes like pineapple, that Tony leans over and says, “By the way. Just ‘Tony' is fine." He coughs again. “We've reached first-name basis by this point. I think it happened when I almost puked on your shirt."

“Tony," the boy repeats, smiling, and Tony leans back against a tree and closes his eyes, thinking of large warm hands and of the one person his muddled brain decided he wanted to see most before his heart finally stopped beating.

* * * * *

“What’s happening to me, Tony?"

The rooftop is quiet save for Steve’s voice, barely above a whisper. He counts the stars absently as he speaks. “Loki’s behind this. Or so we think. Everyone's still working out how, and why, and I should be there. But I just . . . I just needed a few minutes.”

He takes a breath. “I really don’t know what you’re doing to me, Stark. I was just so full of . . . of rage today, facing Aquarius. Swear I was gonna turn into the Hulk if that weren’t Bruce’s job already.” He laughs a little. “I think I’ll be okay when I finally stop what did this to you. To our team. And make sure it doesn’t happen to the rest of the city. The city that doesn’t really trust me anymore. Which I understand.” He stares down at his hands. “I have a habit of letting go of the people I care about. Bucky Barnes reached for my hand years ago and I couldn't hold onto him. And I made the call that got you killed--that's to say I didn't make one at all. In the end I guess I just watched you both fall.”

For a few moments, Steve simply watches the stars twinkle. "You're up there. I know it. I just . . . excuse my 'old-fashioned' view of the world. You’d probably make fun of it. But I was raised by an old-school Irish Catholic family, Tony. I believe when someone’s gone, they’re never really _gone_.” He nods firmly. A memory suddenly nags at his brain, poking at his consciousness until he releases it into the silent air:

"Do you remember when you and I had that argument--that ridiculous fight a few months ago, about a call you made when we were battling those AIM cyborgs? God, I thought it'd never end. I kept telling you how rash you'd been, how your snap decision to use your armor tech to blow them all out at once was ridiculously risky and could've destroyed a helluva lot of innocent lives. I only keep reminding myself of it because it's just--I keep thinking of how passionate you were. You insisted that it was the right call to make. You got right in my face. And I was so angry at you, Stark. And yet when I look at it now, all I remember is your passion. It’s funny.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Whenever I think about you lately, I don’t think of Iron Man. Or that obnoxious guy I first met on the Helicarrier a year ago. I think of _you_ , and the stuff we did that didn’t involve crushing bad guys to a pulp. Like all the times I kicked your ass shooting hoops in the gym downstairs. The time I made everyone pancakes and you started a syrup war in the kitchen which threw JARVIS for a loop . . ." He smiles at the memory. “Or that time we fought over the remote on the couch for almost two hours. And I kind of tackled you to the floor and we were . . . we were so _close_ , Tony . . . I’ve never let anyone get that close. I didn’t know how, before I met you. And you sort of forced your way in and I . . . I didn’t mind. Not once."

He realizes he’s crying, and he decides he doesn’t care. “I can’t lead this team into battle like this, Tony. I’m . . . I’m all out of whack, and I know why, now. It’s ‘cause I think I’m in love with you, Stark.”

A slight breeze ruffles his hair, makes him shudder as his confession moves with the wind. He’s about to turn around, head back to the interrogation room, when he hears a voice, calmer than the breeze wrapping itself around Steve:

“I’m just glad I heard it from you.”

Steve jumps, spinning round to the door leading to the rooftop, and there stands the one person upon whom Steve wouldn’t have wished overhearing his little admission: Pepper Potts.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this isn't too cheesie--no, I know it is. But oh well. Enjoy? DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, as usual. xD

“Something troubles you, dear _brother._ ”

Thor grinds his teeth in lieu of a wince at Loki’s mockery of the word, its two syllables laced with green resentment. Of course Thor is troubled, to say the very least--his inability to return to Midgard and his father’s orders to keep things that way have led Thor here, in the depths of Asgard City where Loki remains prisoner, for lack of anything else to do.

He’s lost track of how many people have told him that Loki is a lost cause--Sif, Volstagg, even his own mother Frigga, who until now had clung to the hope that the man she once called her son could become so again. And yet when Thor feels at his most lost, he finds himself here. He idly remembers being a boy of three and ten, playfully tackling Loki to the dirt on the outskirts of Odin's castle grounds. Recalls the bright childish laughter in Loki's green eyes. Reminisces the boyish tumbles that have transformed into ugly brawls.

Loki’s cell is dank but his eyes shine with his usual mischief, which makes Thor oddly uneasy.

He does not show it, though, as he replies, “It is not your concern. Father would like to speak with you--”

“I do not have to abide by his petty demands. He is your father. Not mine.” Loki leans back against the wall of his little cage, and the hint of a smirk that Thor’s seen dancing at the edge of Loki’s expression for the past few days is still there. “You both know binding me here with your foolish father’s dark magic will change nothing.”

Thor charges forward to slam his fists against the metal bars. “Change comes to those who are open to it, Loki!"

“Frankly, I quite like things the way they are, brother. Don't you?" Loki crosses his arms behind his head. “Do you know what's just as fun as bringing a world to order, to its bony knees?" He tilts his head back, staring off at something Thor cannot fathom, and laughs. “Chaos. When chaos reigns, everybody falls. Even the mighty Thor."

Thor shakes his head firmly. “You talk in riddles. You know not what you say--"

“I can hear your little human girl." Loki's grin does not falter, and the mention of Jane causes Thor's white-knuckled grip on the cell bars to soften slightly. “Calling for you across dimensions. It's a shame you cannot go to her, isn't it?"

Thor’s eyes harden. He leans closer, finding Loki’s eyes and holding them. His last words linger in Thor’s mind: _It’s a shame you cannot go to her, isn’t it?_

And suddenly, Thor’s muddled mind is clear.

He has not spoken to anyone of the broken nexus portal, sans his father. Even if the prison guards had known of it, they would not be so stupid to relay this news to Loki. No--Loki had known about this from the moment the portal had been severed. And it had been no accident.

_When chaos reigns, everybody falls._

“Loki," he growls, “What have you done?"

Loki does not reply, but the echo of his cackle is loud enough for all of Asgard to hear.

* * * * *

“So," says Virginia Potts, “Nice weather tonight for autumn, huh?"

Steve scratches the back of his head, appraising his visitor. She looks as professional as ever in a dark blue dress suit and black heels, hair pulled back in a bun. There is a small plastic storage bin under her right arm. A small, sad smile decorates her face.

He wonders if this could be any more awkward. Having realized and openly confessed your love for someone, only to find that the one person to hear it had been the aforementioned late someone’s girlfriend.

“Um.” He clears his throat awkwardly, feeling his face grow hot. “It’s, uh. Yes. Definitely on the, um. Warmer side, and--oh, God." He practically chokes on his last few syllables and in one long breath, says, “Ms. Potts, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You weren’t supposed . . . No one was supposed to hear that. I-I know you two had been going steady for a long while, and I--”

“Like I said. I’m glad I could hear it from you, Steve." She takes a few steps forward to stand beside him at the edge of the roof.

“Sorry, I . . . what do you--"

“I’m not stupid, Captain. Also, I was Tony’s personal assistant for the bulk of his adult life. I notice _everything_." She waves a dismissive hand. “I saw how you two were. And I’m not going to say this is how I pictured things turning out between Tony and me. Especially now that he is a slight case of being dead." The word sends a visible shudder through her, and Steve feels for her, thinking he’s made an even worse mess of things until she says, “But I’m glad that I caught you up here and that I . . . It’ll be easier to . . . let go, you know?"

She doesn’t look livid, like Steve had expected. She looks almost . . . peaceful? The wind lightly teases her strawberry hair as she stares out into the city below. Pepper Potts: the resilient woman who had loved (and taken care of) Tony Stark, with an air of quiet strength that practically rolls off her shoulders.

She sighs, leaning forward on the ledge, pressing her hands to the concrete. “I just flew in today. Y’know, it took all the guts I had to come back here after dealing with things at the Malibu branch. There was a lot of Tony there, but here, in New York . . . it’s practically _buzzing_ with him, you know? I miss him." Her eyes well up with tears, and she reaches up to blotch them away. “I miss him so much."

There’s a lump in Steve’s throat, but he manages a “me, too."

She gestures to the building around them. “Tony’s a part of this place. Especially now with all of you here. Before he died, Tony and I had been . . . ” She shrugs. “Things changed between us. I was angry at first. I still sort of am." Her voice is firm now, the tears in her eyes mismatched with her tone. “I was angry that he had the nerve to mess around with my heart like he always managed to. And then I was angry we couldn’t fix things between us, when he died. But . . . they say time heals all wounds, you know? And now Harold and I . . .” She trails off, and Steve suddenly remembers Tony’s funeral (though most of it had been a blur), and how close Pepper and Happy had been. “That’s another story. Anyway . . . you two are--were something else. Always arguing, but bringing out the best in each other in the process because you were constantly challenging each other to be better.”

She places a hand over his. “I saw it in Tony, and I see it in you, Steve: willpower. Look, I’ve been watching the news.” Steve looks away. “I know what people are saying. What people think. But you did what you had to. And I know Tony understood that. You can beat this. You can keep this city--this world safe.”

Steve’s heart clenches at this, and he leans over to put a tentative hand on Pepper’s shoulder. “He loved you. I can promise you that.”

“Yeah.” She nods. “I know. And I can’t speak for Tony--not even he can speak for himself anymore, but . . .”

Pepper smiles again, her grin a little less grim than before as she retrieves the box she’d been carrying and holds it out to him. “Just . . . take a look at these. I found them at the Malibu house. Thought you might like to have them. Tony kept them buried under a bunch of plans and prototypes. Which, in his weird, uncharted cave of a mind means he wanted to keep them safe.”

Before Steve can say another word or offer a gesture of thanks, Pepper is muttering, “JARVIS, override code 6-4-3-6-7, please,” and is descending from the roof, and Steve’s left with a plastic bin and the stars.

He swings his legs over the edge of the tower, sitting on the edge to place the box on his lap. Upon opening it, he lets out an audible gasp.

The first item that greets him is a photograph, of a warm sepia tone Steve knows so well. It’s of him and Howard Stark, back in ‘43. Howard is grinning cheekily (a unique expression only his son could perfect), bent over a bunch of plans next to a smiling Steve. They’re at a large table in Howard’s workshop, and the memory surges through Steve’s mind, thundering.

“My God." With a shaking hand he sifts through the box, finding old newspaper clippings and pictures of Howard’s, various prototype plans for Cap’s shield, little scribbled notes. _Tony wanted to keep these safe_ , he thinks, his mind echoing Pepper’s words.

A small piece of his father in a box. And a small piece of Steve Rogers. Pieces of the things Tony cared about, kept safe.

Steve peers up at the sky once again, and suddenly doesn’t feel so small. He’ll be damned if he lets the Zodiac get away now.

For Tony, he is making a new promise.

He’s going to keep this team, this city, Tony’s memory, safe and sound.

* * * * *

“There aren’t any stars here.”

Tony turns his head to squint at Stop-Han, who lays a few feet away with his arms crossed in front of his chest. The orange sun has traveled halfway around the yellow, which means night has fallen, or so Tony has learned. He closes his eyes, unable to will them open any longer. His muscles ache, his bones feel as though they are sinking to burrow into the ground itself.

They stopped walking hours ago, when Tony blacked out and collapsed in a brush.

Tony hasn’t said it, but they both know he’s not standing up again.

He hears Stop-Han say, “It is said there are many on Vanir, though I have never been. Asgard holds billions of stars. Here on Alfheim, a star is a rarity.”

“That’s weird. ‘Cause you said Alfheim’s one of the realms on the same--” Cough. “--plane of Asgard or whatever, so shouldn’t you all share the same stars? My astrology professor from junior year would be all over this." He pauses both to ponder and to catch his breath before adding, “She was hot.”

“I am not so versed in the ways of the stars. I only remember my mother telling my brothers and me the many tales about them.” Tony can hear the pang of the memory hitting the boy’s consciousness, and there is a momentary silence between the travelers until Tony says:

“Well. Out with it, then. I want a bedtime story.”

Stop-Han’s melodic voice is soothing. “My mother used to speak of stars as entities that guide us to where we are meant to go. It is said that if one gazes up at the stars, there is another looking upon those very same stars, even as far as worlds away. And that person is one who is meant to cross your path, and to change it forever.”

“Hmm.” Tony licks his dry lips. “At home I . . . I used to watch the, um. The stars . . .” His thoughts are cloudy now, thick and heavy in his mind. He wants to sleep. “Up on my roof. With . . . with him.” He needs not clarify who he’s speaking of. He knows Stop-Han knows, because Stop-Han’s not stupid. Far from stupid, actually. Tony idly thinks he should tell the boy so, but that would be stooping too low. Admitting that anyone but Tony himself is at least marginally intelligent just won’t do. Even if he’s saying it to the silly, overly-optimistic little elf with the piercing blues . . . 

He falls asleep half-wondering if wherever Steve is now, he’s watching the stars.

* * * * *

Jane doesn’t make any effort to hide her flabbergasted expression upon seeing Steve Rogers all but storm into the kitchen at two in the morning.

Ever since the revelation concerning Loki’s apparent involvement with the Zodiac, no one has even thought of sleeping. Bruce Banner has disappeared into the lab downstairs. Clint and Natasha have been working relentlessly with Nick Fury and Agent Hill concerning the information gathered from Aquarius (who remains at the hands of SHIELD, and thus whose close proximity Jane finds very unnerving). Jane herself has her laptop open, having burrowed herself in research for the past hour with Darcy hovering over her shoulder. Pepper Potts has joined them as well, making various coffee runs and sorting through some of Tony Stark’s personal items from his workshop.

And now Steve is here, looking more like Captain America than Jane has seen in days with a gleam of focus in his eyes, and as she looks around it’s clear the Avengers share her surprise.

“Captain,” says Fury in greeting, “Nice of you to join us.”

Steve pulls out a chair, all but collapsing into it. When he speaks, there is an air of authority in his voice that makes even snarky Clint fall quiet in mid-conversation: “I can’t speak for any of you. But I’ve decided enough is enough.”

He exchanges a glance with Pepper who stands in the doorway, significant for reasons beyond Jane’s knowledge. “I realize I’ve abandoned my responsibilities as leader lately, after everything that’s happened. It’s unfair to each of you; it’s unfair to this team and it’s unfair to the world we’ve pledged to protect.”

Darcy pokes Jane in the shoulderblade. “He’s _so_ gonna make a speech right now, isn’t he?” she whispers.

“So this is me hoping that I can at least try to make up for the mistakes I’ve made in the last week. But I will need all of your help. So. Bring me up to speed. What’s everyone been working on?”

A lingering silence fills the air for a moment. Jane peers up at Darcy who looks mildly disappointed that there’d been no inspiring speech on the part of the Captain.

Agent Hill finally clears her throat and says, “We’ve been working on discerning what Loki’s been up to through what Aquarius has revealed to Agent Romanoff. Miss Lewis had been right about the connection between Asgard and what is happening here on Earth with the Zodiac. Loki is that connection.”

“Are we positive it’s him?” Steve clasps his hands together, resting his chin on his fingers.

Natasha furrows her eyebrows. “Who else would look _that_ deeply into the way we fight, what our strengths and weaknesses are? When he first faced us, we defeated Loki _as a team_. He knows taking us down one by one is his best bet.”

“The Zodiac dudes can hop between dimensions or whatever using the Key,” Darcy chimes in, “so it’s no surprise that Loki’s been in contact with them.”

“I still don’t get what his deal is, though,” mutters Clint, “I mean, what’s the point? He’s locked up in the Asgard loony-bin last time we checked.”

Steve’s eyes widen suddenly, and Jane is a little confused with all this back-and-forth superhero talk until his next words make everything a little clearer: “Clint, that’s exactly the point. Chaos. The Zodiac keep talking about chaos . . .” Steve shoots out of his chair, beginning to pace. “And Loki is living vicariously through them. He’ll take any chance he can get to make sure this world falls, even if he can’t see it firsthand.”

It makes sense. If Jane knows anything about her boyfriend’s adopted brother, it’s that chaos is his specialty. Even in his attempts to rule over Earth, he left chaos in his wake . . . 

“Oh,” she says suddenly, “ _Oh._ ” Pulling up a few files on her laptop, she covers her mouth to stop a _eureka!_ tumbling from her mouth (and, Darcy would probably say, saving her from a lifetime of embarrassment). Within seconds, everyone is crowded around her computer. The program she’d created to analyze Asgardian portals blares bright onscreen. Jane squints at the severed nexus-portal, shaking her head slowly.

Fury’s anxious voice saying, “What’ve we got, Miss Foster?” finally prompts her to speak.

“It makes sense now,” she mumbles, running a hand through her hair. “We kept saying how only an extremely powerful force could have been enough to sever that portal. But it couldn’t have just been some kind of arbitrary surge of energy--something _physically_ cut it. What happened to Tony Stark was all part of the Zodiac’s plan.”

Steve’s eyes harden. “Sure it was. They knew if they sent him far enough off, his suit would--”

“No, no.” Jane holds up a finger, and Steve clamps his lips shut and Jane can’t help but mentally add that he’d better if he knows what’s good for him. She’s having a Big Scientific Revelation Moment, and she’ll be damned if anyone interrupts. “I mean, that was _part_ of it, Captain, but they sent him off with the energy of the Zodiac Key for a reason. They had coordinates. A direction. A purpose. Loki must have told them where to send Tony. And if we were able to go up there into space right now and look at that portal . . .” She sighs, all the pieces of the giant puzzle finally moving together. “. . . it’d have a pretty big Tony-sized cut through it.”

Clint eloquently says, “Holy _shit_ ” at the same time Pepper audibly gasps and exclaims, “You mean Tony is the reason Thor can’t get back to Earth?!”

“Yes.” Jane takes off her glasses, rubbing her eyes. “And that’s what Loki wanted. Taking Tony out in the process was just . . .” She trails off.

Fury is the one to finish for her: “An added bonus.”

Darcy squeezes Jane’s shoulders. There is momentary quiet as everyone takes all this in, until Steve says, “Well. What are we waiting for?”

The group all shift to look at him. He goes on, not a single tremor in his voice: “We know what they want. We know how they’ve managed to see into who we are as a team and as individuals. Now it’s time we fight back.”

“ _Now_ it’s time for a speech,” Jane leans up and whispers to Darcy. Clint apparently hears her, for he raises his eyebrows in amusement from across the table. Natasha lightly pinches his arm. Fury looks just as perturbed as he always does, but there’s a hint of something like hope in his eye. Jane stifles a smile. For such a dysfunctional group, she can’t help but muse, it’s amazing how one revelation and one strong-willed leader can change the spirit of a team.

“The Zodiac want chaos? They can have it. We’ll give them a surprise. Because I know for a fact that to keep this place safe--" He nods to Pepper. “--we’re gonna do whatever we can. We’re still a team." He gives the group a once-over, and finishes with six words that send chills up and down Jane’s spine: We’re bringing the war to them.”

* * * * *

There are bright lights everywhere, and Tony is smiling. He can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed, but the lights are there nonetheless, beckoning him forward. They are warm, and inviting, and Tony can feel the tingling in his very core to reach out to them, but he’s not sure if he can. A dull throbbing in his chest has substituted the sharp pains he’s had for hours.

“Tony.” The elf’s voice echoes from somewhere nearby but Tony can’t see him. He sounds determined as ever, though, in his demand. “We must keep moving.”

Tony can’t discern whether he physically shook his head or not, but his words emphasize the half-action: “S’no use, kid. The lights are here.” He takes a few shuddering breaths, feeling his body practically fold in on itself, his mind flutter with pieces of thoughts he can’t put together. “Why don’t you just go?” he gasps, trying with all his might to lift a hand to shoo the boy away. The exertion makes him woozy. He strains his ears to listen for Stop-Han’s steps, maybe his voice in a sing-song goodbye--but all he hears is a few shuffling sounds as the boy shifts next to him.

And suddenly Tony‘s angry. He‘s lying on unfamiliar ground cradling his dying breaths full of dying words in his lungs and all he wants is to be left alone. “Why aren’t you moving? Go on. Get lost,” he spits, trying for a venomous tone, but his shaky voice betrays him.

“Because you are my friend.” Tony thinks he hears Stop-Han’s voice crack, which is odd. The usual rhapsodic highs and lows of his voice, the relentless confidence for a boy so young, is not there. He’s just a scared kid, and the moment is reminiscent of when he shared with Tony his past and memories of his family. And despite everything, Tony knows what it’s like to grow up too fast.

He mumbles, “Listen, Stop-Han. Or whatever your name is. Sorry I never got it right.” Each word is even more difficult to exhale than the last. “I didn’t really get to ask you . . . so you say you’re in these woods because you don’t have anywhere else to go anymore. But did you ever think all this time you’ve just been running?” He wonders if Stop-Han can even hear his words anymore, or if they’re just sinking in and out of Tony’s imagination. “I know how that is. Running away because you’re afraid, or you don’t want to face whatever’s waiting for you. But why don’t you turn around? Home might not be as bad as you think.” He isn’t sure if he’s talking about himself or the elf anymore as he finishes, “Maybe going home’s what you need.”

“Please do not go, Tony Stark,” the boy says shakily, but Tony knows he has to. One last time, he forces his eyes to open. Blonde hair and blue eyes greet him. He thinks of the Super-Secret Boyband back home. He thinks of Pepper. And he thinks of the man with that same shade of blues and all the things Tony never got to say to him . . .

* * * * *

When Tony Stark opens his eyes, the first thing he notices is his pounding headache. Then he observes the fact that Thor Odinson is studying him with an expression of sheer elation. “Friend Tony! You live!”

“Oh, God.” Tony mumbles, closing his eyes again, “This really needs to stop happening.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, hello! Gosh, I'm chuffed at the kudos and lovely comments you all have left me. Thank you for stickin' with me! Just a few chapters to go! DISCLAIMER: I own nothing 'cept the little elf that could.

“I was certain you would not succumb to death so quickly, friend Stark. We Avengers are much stronger than that!”

Tony really wants to share Thor’s enthusiasm. He does. But his blinding headache and the fact that he can physically _feel_ the years-old shrapnel clawing through him, keep him relatively quieter than usual. He manages a, “Hi, Point Break,” before a coughing fit takes over. His bones ache; he’s lying on some kind of uncomfortable marble table, and Thor has been fretting over him for the past ten minutes. Almost too mother-hen for such a manly man. Tony would laugh if he weren’t still gagging.

“Easy there, Man of Iron.” Thor gruffly reaches to brace Tony’s shoulders, lifting him to a sitting position and promptly patting his back. Which, if you’re Thor who has fists the size of Texas, means all but beating Tony to a bloody pulp.

“Ow--ow, okay, I’m fi-- _ow_!” Tony lifts his hands in surrender, and Thor ceases his unintentional punching bag exercise with a concerned frown, dropping his hand to his side. “Right, um. How long have I--” Cough. “Been here? And, by the way, just out of curiosity, _here_ is . . . ?” He trails off, raising his eyebrows at Thor expectantly.

Thor smiles brightly. “Only a short while. Welcome to my home on Asgard, Tony Stark. It is wonderful to see a familiar Midgardian face. I am very glad to have found you.”

“Uh. Thanks.” Tony finds himself leaning back again, the cold marble seeming oddly comfortable now. He closes his eyes. “So, I’m not dead. I keep finding that lately, y’know? All my not-deadness is starting to get a little redundant.”

Thor shakes his head firmly and says, “No, you are not. But you will be if we do not hasten. Much has happened, Man of Iron. We must find a way to return to Midgard.”

Wait, what? “Hold on, Hercules,” Tony mutters, his eyes popping open again, “You have a way. We're going to plunge through that nexus-portal your brainy girlfriend has been studying for the last, like, ever and go home, right?”

“Alas, it has been severed,” replies Thor, and, casually as if he’s discussing this week’s lottery, adds, “By you.”

Tony blinks hazily for half a second. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

“Verily, you did. By no fault of yours, of course. The Zodiac and their mystical Key are to blame.” Thor shakes his fist--literally, _shakes his fist_. Tony kind of wishes he were a little more lucid for this. “The surge of energy powered by the Key sent you through my nexus-portal and onto Alfheim.”

“Wait, how do you know about the Zodiac?” Tony asks, all of this information a little too much to process for his cloudy consciousness. “Because you were up here when they were royally kicking our asses. Thanks for the help with that, by the way.”

Thor’s expression changes, disappointment crinkling in his eyes. “Loki is up to his foul schemes once more. The Zodiac have been in contact with him, jumping from their dimension to ours undetected with the power of the Key." 

"Loki?" The name on Tony's tongue brings a bad taste to his mouth. "Figures."

"--All this time, Father and I thought Loki had gone mad . . . talking to himself in the depths of his imprisonment . . .” Thor's brow furrows in barely-contained anger. “He talks in riddles, but I ascertained the truth from him. While the Avengers faced the Zodiac's wrath below, Loki attempted to keep me here--”

“--By making your portal go all wonky,” Tony finishes slowly, “Torn through by yours truly. My _God_ , your not-brother has some serious issues.”

Thor nods. “This is why we must return to Midgard at once. Loki is counting on chaos falling over Midgard, on the assumption that we will be too late to stop it. We cannot be of use here. I have been working on finding another portal at the edge of the Sea of Space through which we may return, though the odds are against us. I'm hoping I can convince my father to assist me in repairing the portal, for I cannot do so alone. In the meantime, we must get you moving, Friend Stark.” Thor reaches forward again, helping Tony up. 

“Yeah. Okay. Sounds great, but.” Tony winces as he attempts to swing his legs over the table, a sharp pain ebbing at his chest. “Don’t know if I’m gonna make it that long. Not to put a damper on this happy little reunion.”

Thor frowns again. “You have made it this far, Tony Stark.”

“Yeah, but that’s only because--” Tony skids to a halt in his speech, suddenly remembering what’s missing in this big Asgardian picture. “Wait. Thor, where’s the kid?”

“I am not certain of whom you speak.”

Tony uses every bit of strength in him to lift his head a little, meeting Thor’s concerned glance. “There was this kid, this boy who helped me out on Alfheim. Um . . . Stop-Han? Or something? Blonde. Big blue eyes, looks like he just walked off a _World of Warcraft_ arena. Was he there when you found me?”

“Ah.” Thor’s amused smile is back. “Yes. The light-elf. When I realized Loki’s plan, I had not yet surmised who or what had torn the portal, for he did not openly reveal this information to me. I knew from where it had been cut, that whatever severed it must have landed on Alfheim. Upon arrival, I immediately took notice of scraps of your armor, and all became clear to me. It was easy enough to make my way into town and inquire some elf villagers as to your whereabouts. But before I could do so, this boy you mentioned weeded his way through the woods, begging me to assist his friend. It did not take long for me to see that friend was you.”

Tony nods, feeling something like relief flood through him. “Oh. So the kid’s all right, then?”

“Indeed. He has evidently returned to his home village.”

 _How about that. The little shit actually listened to me_ , Tony thinks, a surge of affection overtaking the pain just for a moment. “Good old Stop-Han,” he says.

Thor laughs. “ _Staffan_ , friend Tony,” he corrects, slinging an arm under Tony’s in an attempt to help him move forward.

“Oh. Well. Excuse my pronunciation. Tourist and all,” Tony pants before biting his lip to keep from yelping in pain. Thor’s last words on the subject, though, distract momentarily from the agony:

“It is not a name commonly found on Midgard." Thor pauses thoughtfully before adding, “One might liken it to the name ‘Steven.’”

* * * * *

To anyone else, it might look ridiculous: a bunch of mismatched heroes standing in a meeting room wearing ostentatious green energy-detection goggles and staring at each other apprehensively. To Steve Rogers, it sure as hell looks like progress, compared to the last near two weeks of stewing in a tired combination of grief and idle frustration.

Clint stuffs his hands in his jean pockets. “These things better not mess with my aim,” he says flatly.

Steve replies, “You can shoot an arrow with your eyes closed. And besides, we won’t need these once we track down the Zodiac. Since they’re constantly moving, we can’t afford to waste time trying to get Aquarius to reveal any possible locations. It’s better we all have these, since SHIELD made sure the original pair worked to begin with.”

Natasha nods. “Guess we can thank Bruce for managing to help replicate these.”

“I, uh.” As usual, Bruce sort of shrinks into himself upon hearing something remotely close to praise in his direction. “I mean, y’know. They were Tony’s plans. If Pepper hadn’t found them I wouldn’t have been able to get the materials SHIELD needed to make them.”

Darcy throws him a thumbs-up. “Well, kudos, dude. Those goggles are top-notch. J, how come we didn’t get any?”

“Darcy, we’re supposed to stay here with Pepper and monitor the nexus-portal--”

“Yeah, but that’s _boring_ \--”

“--Trust me, kid, this isn’t all it’s cracked up to be--”

“--You can’t even talk, you get to throw arrows at people!”

Steve watches them all interact, tripping over each other’s sentences but managing to know how to finish them. It finally seems as if something like teamwork has arisen among the group, which Steve hopes lasts them through what lies ahead. He can’t help but think how wrong it all feels, though, what with one Avenger unable to be here because he’s lost his way and the other because he won’t ever be able to again.

“We should get going soon,” he says. The jokes and quiet laughter around him subside, replaced with a united tone of sheer determined focus.

It only intensifies, much to Steve’s surprise, when Fury bursts in. “Looks like the battle’s coming up on our heels faster than we expected.” A few SHIELD agents charge in behind him as he finishes, “Aquarius has escaped HQ. Looks like he got by with a little help from his friends with a certain Key.”

Cap narrows his eyes. "Well. I'd say there's no time to lose, then," he says. Everyone turns to look at him, and he hears Darcy whisper to Jane and Pepper, “Wait for it. He’ll say it. He’s totally gonna say it.”

Partially because he feels boosting morale couldn’t hurt, and partially because disappointing Darcy in the midst of all this would just be another something to feel guilty for, he says it. It isn’t a shout that ripples through the walls, but a quiet declaration: “Avengers, assemble.”

* * * * *

The inevitable has finally happened.

Tony Stark is locked inside himself.

He’s swimming for air, trying to will his lips to move, even the smallest of muscles to twitch. All he can manage is a slow blink every few seconds, and the occasional choppy breath. His thoughts are alive as ever, though, and all he wants to do is let them live. But his body, his barely-beating heart cannot keep up with his ever-whirling mind.

And, hell, is there _pain_. Searing, blinding pain ripping through his every pore, coloring his senses sharp reds and whites. So he simply lies there, while someone who looks a lot like Thor and may even be his mother frets over him, and Thor’s voice from somewhere a little ways off fades in and out:

“Father, I beg of you. You know nexus-portals are few and far between. There is no time to find another! You must help me restore this one so that my friend and I may have safe passage to Midgard. These portals do not contain such power as does the Bifrost. Together we can--”

"Do not be a fool! Do you not understand what Loki has managed to do under our very watch? I cannot afford to lose you now . . .”

Well. Tony had never really pictured meeting Thor’s family, but if he ever had he probably wouldn’t have imagined it to be this awkward. Considering he’s in the middle of an Odinson Screaming Match and all he can do is lie around and listen to it. Tony lets his mind wander.

He wonders what Staffan is doing right now. Has he any family to go back to, despite how things in Alfheim have apparently changed? With any luck, they've gone back to the way they used to be by now. And Staffan can be a kid again.

Stop-Han. Staffan. _Steven._

Tony doesn't believe in that sort of thing; truly, he doesn't. But he can't help but wonder if it isn’t mere coincidence that the boy who'd guided him through a vast, unfamiliar forest happens to almost-share a name with the person who seems to infiltrate Tony's every thought these days.

Steve Rogers. Literally the last voice on Earth Tony had heard before all this: _We'll come get you. I promise. I swear . . ._

Even imagining his voice is strangely comforting. Tony lets his eyes droop closed, letting the words loop round in his head like an old record.

Thor‘s yell cuts through Tony‘s little moment of peace: “Please, Father! Midgard needs my help. If you want me to stop what Loki has done, I must return to Earth!”

He can't discern what happens after that. Feeling inexplicably tired, Tony gives into exhaustion. A few more shouts are tossed around; a booming sound that seems a hell of a lot like thunder cracks through Tony's eardrums, there is Loki's faint laughter from somewhere below, and Thor is suddenly lifting Tony into his burly arms and then there's nothing.

* * * * *

_“Okay, seriously. Did you dress with your eyes closed or something?”_

_Cap froze in his tracks, trying to hide an agitated frown as he turned toward Tony Stark, who shrugged. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I remember putting a mirror in your room. You should use it.”_

_“I’m sorry?” Cap crossed his arms defensively. He and Tony had learned to tolerate each other by this point, because the fact was, they truly were great as a team, or so everyone apparently said. But now, as he was about to head off to the Helicarrier on a mission, he was in no mood for Tony’s antics._

_Stark stepped forward, and, to Steve’s utter chagrin, reached upward toward the mask on Steve’s face. “Hey!” he yelped, stumbling back, “What in God’s name are you--”_

_“Relax, Capsicle. Your mask. It’s all crooked--"_

_“--I can see fine, Stark!--"_

_“--I mean, how is that even comfortable? Just hang on a sec. I don’t bite. Jesus.” Tony lifted his hands again and suddenly they were all over Cap’s face, and did this son of a gun even have any regard for personal space?_

_After a few seconds, Tony stepped back, nodding in approval at his work. “There. Now you don’t have embarrass me by looking ridiculous when you leave my tower.”_

_“Embarrass--” Cap clamped his mouth shut. This wasn’t worth arguing over. He squared his shoulders and continued, “Being an Avenger isn’t about looking good.”_

_“Shit, it’s not? Well. Clearly I’ve been given the wrong information.” Tony smirked at Cap, who put on what he believed to be a very impressive scowl in reply, but there was no denying Tony’s touch hadn’t exactly felt awful. Cap squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, willing the thoughts away before they got out of hand. “You’re all set to go now, Cap. All prim and proper like usual,” Stark finished._

_Cap cleared his throat. “Right, um. Thanks.” He started to walk away, peering at his reflection in a glass wall before stopping abruptly in his tracks. Without looking back, he called out, “Hey, Stark.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“What made you point it out? The crooked mask, I mean. Sounds a lot like you to just let me go out there looking like a fool.”_

_Tony chuckled behind him. “Yeah, that does sound like me, doesn’t it?” Steve heard Tony’s footsteps travel closer until he could practically feel Tony breathing behind him. He clapped Steve on the back. “Go and get ‘em.”_

Steve smiles in spite of himself as he pulls his mask over his head. The memory recalled the most camaraderie they’d shown each other up until that point. And Steve realizes now that Tony never really answered his question. But maybe Steve had been meant to figure out the answer himself all along.

There are--were many sides to Tony Stark that maybe the public or even his friends never got to see. But Steve saw it all the time. For some reason Tony had trusted Steve enough to share with him a different side of himself. And it’s for the Tony Stark not everyone got to see, but knew had always been there as he went spiraling into the sky, whom Cap fights for today.

He casts a glance at the stack of newspapers strewn across his bed:

_'Where is Captain America when New York needs him most?'_

_' . . . Though it’s been near a fortnight, Captain America makes no comment about public accusations of his direct involvement in Tony Stark’s death . . .’_

_'Will the Avengers ever be the same?'_

Looking up at his reflection in the mirror, Steve imagines Tony standing behind him. He puts on those ridiculous goggles that only Tony Stark could have managed to invent; he leads his team out into the world Tony Stark had, with them, always tried to protect.

He can hear Tony loud and clear in his mind as it all begins: _Go and get ‘em._

* * * * *

There is the battle, and nothing else.

Hawkeye is the first one to track down the Zodiac from above, which surprises no one, because that's just what he does. They’re in an old warehouse on the lower east side, and have nowhere to run because the Avengers and SHIELD have them surrounded. The goal? To get Scorpio away from the Key. And Cap would personally like to see to it that it happens.

Black Widow is taking on Zodiac members left and right. Hawkeye is leaping from building to surrounding building, taking out whatever enemy he can with an arrow even if it’s just for a momentary distraction. The Hulk is taking on both Taurus and Gemini, and seems to be having a marvelous time.

In Cap’s ear, Jane’s voice is erratic through the communicator: “Captain! The portal--the portal’s been restored! I--I’m working on the ‘how’ part, but I thought you should know.”

“Thanks, Miss Foster.” It’s a piece of good news, at any rate. It could mean Thor’s on his way. And they could always use the help. Cap promptly whirls around to give Aries a good kick in the face, regaining his focus. 

There is the battle, and nothing else, until.

Until.

The crack of thunder and lightning makes every head turn. The split in the sky brings Thor Odinson in its wake, his hammer spinning behind him to land at his feet.

Steve feels his very bones begin to shake. He staggers forward. Black Widow has Sagittarius in a chokehold, but has frozen in place. Even the Hulk ceases his battle cries, a little of Bruce flashing in his expression as he gazes at the sight before him.

“Greetings, fellow Avengers,” Thor’s voice booms. He carries an unmoving Tony Stark in his arms. “I bring a friend.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: 'Staffan' really is a Scandinavian name in which the name 'Steven' has its roots. It's pronounced like "Stahpfahn", if that makes any sense. XD  
> Another fun fact: I suck at writing battle scenes. Sorry in advance.  
> Thanks as always for the support/kudos/love!  
> DISCLAIMER: I own nothing! 'Cept Staffan, but he went away. *cuddles Staffan*

Steve remembers getting the wind knocked out of him behind Shelly's Diner back in 1939. Johnny O’Connell had picked a fight with him for one reason or another, and Steve had decided he wasn’t having any of it. Until the actual physical fighting started. Steve had often found himself on the losing side of those battles back in the day.

He recalls his thoughts screaming, _Breathe! Breathe!_ at him, the feeling of his muscles constricting as he clutched his stomach, gasping silently for air he couldn't find. If Bucky hadn’t found him a little while later, Steve doesn’t like to think of what might’ve happened. It had been terrifying.

And it's how he feels now, watching the unnaturally pale body of Tony Stark suspended in Thor's arms. The blue light in the center of his chest, the arc reactor, flickers like a century-old streetlight, inconsistent and faded . . .

Faded, but blue all the same. _Tonyisalivetonyisalivetonyisalivetonyisalive._

Steve gulps, and all but chokes out into his communicator, “A-Agent Hill, do you copy? Tony--we need--"

“A van is on its way to take Mr. Stark to the nearest SHIELD hospital base," Hill replies, and Steve silently thanks her for her ability to know when to back off and when to complete his shattered sentences. “For now, Captain, I'd look behind you."

Cap twirls to ram his shield against Scorpio, who does nothing but laugh, the Key clutched in his bony fingers. “So. The man of metal has returned."

“He should have perished!" Gemini screeches from somewhere behind Cap, but he hears a crunching sound and has a feeling Black Widow has caught up to him.

Scorpio continues to grin, teeth shining unnervingly white under an orange cloak. “It is no matter. Loki's little plan to keep his brother away has failed, but it was a miniscule piece in ours."

Cap can feel it bubbling in the depths of him--the feelings of loathing he had collected over the past two weeks, about to boil over. _Don’t have hate in your heart,_ says Sarah Rogers in his head.

It’s there. Threatening to burst from his very pores. But it doesn’t.

Because for all the hate he feels, there’s something like the opposite, too--and Tony Stark had been the one to bring it to light, even though he wasn’t around to see it.

“Surrender, Captain. Do not fight the reign of chaos,” Scorpio’s words grate against him.

But Cap clenches his fists, letting a wave of calm wash over him. He has a city to protect. He has a team to lead.

And Tony is alive. For the time being, anyway. And all of that's worth everything. He darts his eyes to his surroundings. Tony-- _unmovingnotbreathingfocusStevefocus_ \--has just been taken away in a SHIELD car. Hawkeye, Black Widow, the Hulk and now Thor are all taking on the Zodiac with all the strength and willpower they have. They act separately, yet move in unison like only a team could. But they have left Scorpio and the Key to him.

As well they should.

“So, Scorpio. You gonna keep talking?" He holds his shield high, glaring daggers at the creature--once a man, maybe, but crippled with too much power--who had taken everything from him. “‘Cause I'm not listening anymore." And with that, the real fight begins.

* * * * *

_Tony is on Alfheim. There‘s the grass and the purple trees, and it‘s warm. So warm. Tony can breathe again, and it feels nice, but something is missing. It almost physically hurts--the idea that something is missing. He finds himself running--sifting through the forest, frantic, searching for the one thing that makes sense, the one thing that makes it all right--_

_Staffan appears before him, stops him in his tracks. He reaches up for Tony‘s hand, and Tony takes it. The boy leads him for what seems like hours, days even . . . until he sees him._

_Steve, standing in the sunlight. Tony smiles so big he feels his face grow numb, and he starts stumbling toward him, trying to think of the words he thinks he‘s supposed to say, but suddenly everything around him begins to fade away. He fights, wills himself to remain where he feels he's been searching so desperately for . . ._

“Oh, my God. Harold, he‘s waking up . . . Tony? Tony, it‘s Pepper; can you hear me?”

“. . . Sir? Are you all right?. . . ”

Hazy white hospital walls loom over him. An incessant beeping sound rings in his ears. Tony Stark is alive, and he’s starting to think if he had a dollar for every time death has evaded him in the last two weeks he’d be . . . well, richer than he already is. He blinks blurrily, the rest of the world coming into view:

Red-blonde hair and freckles and tears and oh. Oh, it’s Pepper Potts. Happy Hogan sits beside her--Happy, that son-of-a-bitch, he looks good--and is that Rhodey standing in the doorway . . . ?

Holy shit, Tony thinks. I’m _home_.

“Okay,” he mutters, his voice sounding a lot more gravelly and shaky than intended, but it’s his voice nonetheless, “I’m assuming this isn’t a Wizard of Oz type thing where it was all a dream, right? No ruby slippers, or anything? I know it’s not very manly of me to say but hey, those shoes have style.”

“I’ll be goddamned. He’s back,” says Rhodey, stepping forward and shaking his head with a relieved smile. “Will you ever learn how to stay out of trouble? When Pepper ever called me--”

And then said Pepper cuts him off, panic at the edge of her tone and a hundred questions on her lips, “Tony, how are you feeling? Do you remember what happened? Jane Foster’s trying to figure out how it’s even possible you’re _here_ \--"

“Long story. Kind of epic. Thinking of making it into a screenplay," Tony deadpans.

Pepper ignores what Tony figures had been a pretty damn witty remark (she's good at that), and continues, “--I mean, when Thor brought you down from that restored portal-thing we didn’t think you were gonna . . .” She trails off, a breath catching in her throat. Happy puts an arm around her shoulders, and she clasps his hand for a moment before blushing and pulling away. Tony fights the urge to raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs. “M’okay. I mean. I’m breathing, and--oh, wow. Sometimes I even surprise myself.” He taps the arc reactor in the center of his chest, which is a bright white and blue once more. “Guess this thing still works." 

"You _guess_ , sir?"

"Well, I counted on it working again once I got back to Earth. Fun fact, Vibranium is _not_ compatible with Asgardian elements.”

“We kinda got that,” Rhodey replies. He straightens up, brow furrowed in a no-nonsense way that Tony can only fondly describe as _Rhodey-like_. “Now. We’re all here to tell you to take a breather. You got that? You almost _died_ , Tony. It’s lucky the SHIELD medics got to you when they did. So no funny business. You are officially bedridden til further notice.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “That was a very emphatic speech, Rhodey. I can really tell you mean business. So does someone wanna tell me what’s going on outside this room, then?”

Three pairs of eyes avert to the floor, the ceiling, the clock on the wall. “O _kay_. Clearly something’s happening. And none of you want me to be involved in it. For future reference, that usually means I’m gonna stick my nose in it anyway. So spill. I’m serious.”

“The Zodiac, Tony," Pepper blurts, and the look on her face after she says it clearly shows that she wishes she hadn't.

Tony nods slowly. “So the team's out there fighting the good fight, aren’t they?" When no one disputes his assumption, he sits up gingerly. “Well. Sounds like fun."

Pepper’s eyes widen. “Tony, oh my _God_ , do _not_ give me that look--"

“--What look? I'm just looking. With my eyes. It's not a _Look_. It's just a look--"

“--Whatever you ask me to do I'm not going to--"

“Pepper." 

“--I mean, you can't just expect us to let you traipse around New York after you almost _died_ , and--"

“Virgina Potts.” Tony flashes her a pointed look, crossing his arms and attempting to keep from audibly wincing at the movement. “You know me. I can't just watch an opportunity to dress up pass me by."

“Sir,” Happy pipes up, “You’re still recovering. If you think Colonel Rhodes and I are gonna let you leave this room--”

“What if I said the _world_ depended on this? These guys aren’t backing down. I’d know. I fought them already once. And lost.” Silence falls over the room, and Tony knows this is one battle he’s definitely won.

“Y'know, my new and improved Mark VII--"

"--New and improved?" Rhodey's looking at Tony like he has six heads, and he sighs impatiently.

"Yes. When I first took out the Mark VII a while back it wasn't actually fully ready for deployment. Loki didn't seem to really find that relevant; I had minimal time to kick his ass, it was a thing--Anyway, I had another suit in the works; a 7.1 if you will--a little less portable, but a lot shinier." He receives confused stares in reply and with a roll of his eyes amends, "The original Mark VII got blown to bits on Asgard. Basically among all the other prototypes I'm working on and all the old models I have this one. And I need to get to it."

Rhodey blinks. "You mean to tell me you made an entirely different model of the same suit because the other one wasn't _shiny_ enough?"

"Listen. I have standards. And before you have a hernia, I adjusted the transistors on it too. Anyway, it's already run for a test drive . . ." He grins and aptly tugs the IV out of his left arm, causing Pepper to let out an exasperated squeak. “Let's take it all the way."

* * * * *

Odin, All-Father and Protector of Asgard, is taking matters into his own hands.

He descends the stairwell, one hand tightened into a fist behind his back and the other clutching his scepter. This has been a long time coming. If he's to teach his son anything about what it means to be king, he should at least embody the meaning himself. By facing the inevitable, for the safety of his people.

The first thing he sees is Loki's eyes penetrate the darkness, teeth bared in a wild grin. “Hello, _Odin_ ," he snarls, “It has been a while, hasn't it? Thor said you could not bear to see my face. Of course I’m sure he was happy to let you employ him as a little mediator between us. Father’s pride and joy." He leans back, crossing his arms. “We have much to catch up on.”

“You have failed," Odin replies evenly, “My _son_ ensured that I tell you that. He is on Midgard, once again attempting to clean up your vile mess.”

Loki sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Ooh. Something tells me he did not manage to find another portal. The Sea of Space is a large one. Did someone use dark magic? _Again_? Your people would not look so highly upon the old king whose heart hums with black spells--"

“--It was our combined power that restored the portal. Thor is on Midgard, and you . . ." Odin steps close to Loki's little cage, fire in his eyes. The scepter in his right hand glows vibrantly. “You shall be dealing with me."

It is not fear that crosses Loki's expression, but something like concern shines in the downward curve of his lips and the darkening of his eyes. Odin decides that's good enough for him.

* * * * *

“Thanks for the lift, guys." Tony grins cheekily at Happy and Rhodey, who stand in the elevator doorway utterly horrified by their own actions. Convincing them to let him hitch a ride in Rhodey’s car (with Pepper in tow) had taken about five minutes of straight-on puppy eyes and a few threats, but, hey, Tony thinks, desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Welcome back, sir.” Is it possible for an AI to sound enthusiastic? JARVIS is a mystery even to his creator sometimes.

“Thanks, JARVIS.”

Tony tries not to stumble as he makes his way into his laboratory, the weakness in his knees almost overpowering. He attempts to focus on the fact that he’s finally back at the Tower after what feels like years. Ah, there are his robots. There's his spinny workshop chair, and--

“Hey." He pouts at a few tools laid out arbitrarily at his workbench. “Who's been touching my stuff? _Pep_ ," he all but whines, whirling around to face an apprehensive-looking Pepper. “Did you give the access code to anyone while I was sort-of dead? Just because I left pretty much everything ever in my name to you doesn't mean--"

Pepper holds up a finger. “Relax. Just Bruce. He managed to help replicate those goggles you made a few years back. They helped track down the Zodiac."

“What, those old things? They were a prototype. Seriously?" Pepper doesn't look like she's smiling, so Tony shrugs. “Oh. Wow. I love it when I'm a genius--JARVIS, open Pod 3. How much did you miss me ordering you around?”

“Most ardently, sir. Though, unlike you, Dr. Banner does use such foreign terms as 'please' and 'thank-you.'”

"I resent that." The cylinder in the far corner of the room spins to reveal the new and improved Mark VII suit, glimmering a familiar crimson. The protective glass slides aside, and Tony sets his jaw and says with a small nod, “Here we go." 

__

Happy and Rhodey are whispering nervously, Tony thinks possibly they're plotting to tackle him to the ground or something in a dramatic effort to keep him here (or maybe he's just paranoid). Pepper watches him put on the suit with a tight-lipped, anxious expression.

The cool feel of the armor washes over him. He whirls around, looking for his helmet, only to find Pepper is holding it out to him. “Thanks," he says. But Pepper doesn't loosen her grip.

“I’m not gonna try and stop you. But you need to be careful." She bites her lip. “Losing you once was enough. Got it?"

“Noted." Tony smiles at her, trying to be reassuring. “I have to do this. And I’ll be fine. Plus, if I’m not, at least I know you’ve got someone to look after you." He nods at Happy, who’s still in deep conversation with Rhodey.

Pepper blushes. “Tony, I . . . I hope you don’t think that Happy and I wanted to--"

“Hey,” he cuts her off with a shake of his head. “It’s something we talked about before I went on my impromptu vacation to Asgard. It’s . . . it’s fine, Pep. Really. We were both doing our own thing, and . . . look." He sighs, lifting a metal-clad hand to lightly brush against her face. “You’re kind of ridiculously awesome, and you deserve all things ridiculously awesome. So. Go for it. If he hurts you I’ll kick his ass, by the by." She laughs, smudging a stray tear away, and Tony goes on, “I guess this is my second chance. Or maybe my thirty-seventh if you count how many times I've almost died. Anyway." He shrugs. “Lots of things to do. People to see. Asses to kick."

Pepper looks at him with knowing eyes. “You better make sure you get out of this alive, Tony Stark. If anything so you can tell him."

“Tell-- _what?_ Huh?" Tony snatches the helmet from her hands, pretending to examine it. He places it over his head, hearing JARVIS buzzing around him, the not-as-shiny suit feeling as alive as Tony himself. Ha. Now if he’s blushing, no one has to see. Not like he’s blushing, anyway. Pepper’s voice cuts through his concentration:

“At the hospital, you kept saying his name in your sleep."

Tony knows they both understand which ‘he' she's referring to. Neither of them have to say. Despite the fact that layers of armor cover his hands, he can feel the sensation of Pepper's fingers squeezing his. It's a gesture of reassurance and of support, things Pepper has always provided for him. He leans forward, and she kisses the top of his helmet. “Be careful and don't do anything stupid."

“Yes, ma'am." And with a salute to Happy and Rhodey, Iron Man is off to the battlefield. To the Avengers, his teammates--no, if his little trip to Alfheim had led him to discover anything about himself, it's that he can call them his family.

. . . Not to their faces, of course. He'd like to keep his manly reputation in-tact.

* * * * *

Captain America is tired.

The Zodiac are falling one by one; there’s no doubt about that. Thor’s entrance with Tony had sparked something new in the team, and there doesn’t seem to be any stopping them now. In studying Aquarius for the short time allotted to them, Fury, Hill, Hawkeye and Black Widow had prepared the rest of the team for what would lie ahead strategically. Essentially, the Zodiac worked as a team, just as the Avengers did themselves. Taking them apart one by one in isolation from the rest of the brethren seemed like the best bet. Scorpio, though, is another story. Nick Fury keeps screaming in his ear about isolating the Key, which Cap has learned is a lot easier said than done.

Scorpio and his Key are the reason Cap is lying in the rubble, body bruised and mouth tasting of blood. He’s tired, having fought relentlessly for hours, but seemingly to no avail.

“Cap?” Black Widow calls through the communicator, “You need back-up?”

“No.” He tries to be as firm as ever in his command, “You need to stay with Hawkeye. I want to make sure you’re all paired off now to finish off these guys.” Basically he’s saying, _I don’t want what happened with Tony to happen again_ , and it goes understood by Natasha, who falls silent. “I can handle it.”

Scorpio chuckles. “I do not want to fight you. Surrender, and I will bring a wild, colorful anarchy to this world you have never seen. It will be . . . beautiful. Do you still think you can win against chaos, super-soldier?”

Cap gingerly pushes his way up to a standing position again, spitting a few flecks of blood to the ground. “Let’s go another round and find out,” he says. He lifts his shield with a shaking arm at the same time Scorpio raises the Key in both his hands. Cap prepares for the blow, trying to focus on a way to dodge the Key’s energy while also distracting Scorpio enough that the creature doesn’t use said energy to destroy half the city, when--

“A wise musician once said, and I quote, ‘the party don’t start ‘til I walk in.’”

Unmistakable red and gold flashes before him, and Steve almost laughs at the sight. Iron Man is hovering next to Scorpio with his arms crossed, as if he’s taken personal offense to the fact that the fight started without him. So typical. So very Tony.

Fury is the first to react from his front-row seat watching the battle from the copter above. “Stark? Why in the fresh hell aren’t you in the hospital?”

Steve’s left eardrum is suddenly buzzing with the screeches with his teammates’ various greetings and expressions of utter shock: “Hey, Stark!”--"Iron Man help Hulk smash bad guys?"--“Oh, my God. _Tony?_ ”--and Darcy‘s muffled yell of “This is totally badass!” through Jane‘s communicator.

Steve can‘t see Tony‘s face behind his helmet, but he figures chances are the guy‘s probably grinning cheekily. “Hi, guys.”

“Holy shit!” Clint shouts deafeningly through the communicator, “How did you even get here? Aren’t you supposed to be dying?”

Tony shrugs. “Eh. I’ve had at least six meetings with death over the last few weeks. I’ll reschedule. Also, JARVIS is telling me Virgo is behind you, so watch out.”

Cap whirls around to squint at Hawkeye and Black Widow, and sure enough, Virgo is charging at them. Natasha grabs him in a chokehold, and Hawkeye holds a bow and arrow aimed at his chest. Within seconds, the creature falls limp in Natasha’s arms, and she tosses him to the side.

Scorpio hisses at the sight of one of his fallen brothers. “Just because you narrowly evaded death at my hand once, Iron Man, does not mean you will do so again.”

“Well, I mean. You had really shoddy aim. No offense." Tony lands on his feet beside Cap, who’s still a little bit in awe despite himself. _Tony’s here. Tony’s alive._ “You sent me through a portal--I mean, I was told by Thor you could actually see an Iron-Man shaped hole--and it just landed me smack-dab onto another realm. So. Points for effort, anyway--Hi, Cap.”

Suddenly Tony’s looking at him, and it’s all Cap can do to keep a steady voice in reply. “Hi, Tony.”

Tony lifts his hands, repulsor blasters lighting up. “JARVIS’ surveillance says the Hulk and Thor have just taken down Aquarius and Libra--feisty girl, that one. At least I think it’s a girl, but it's fifty-fifty, really. Clearly I've missed all the fun; you guys are really taking care of business here. There’s only Capricorn, Pisces, and this gem left. So. Why don’t we give this guy a run for his money?”

“Why don’t we?” Steve retorts, feeling just a bit lighter on his feet than before. He isn’t sure if it’s the super-serum keeping his strength up and helping him heal faster, or something else entirely that’s making him feel like maybe this battle’s not over.

And with that, it’s as if Tony Stark had never gone away.

Tony circles Scorpio to divert his attention while Steve delivers a roundhouse kick in the crook of Scorpio’s neck, then a knee to the stomach. Behind him, the Hulk and Thor toss Capricorn around like a frisbee, and Black Widow is digging her heel into Pisces’ back to send him into Hawkeye’s closed fist.

“You ready?” Tony says, and Cap nods in understanding, holding up his shield. The sensation of Tony’s two repulsor blasts cause ripples of energy to flow through the shield, and in one swift movement, he shoots the repulsor blasts at Scorpio, sending him flying to the ground.

“Wow. For all that power, he’s sure looking shabby,” Tony remarks.

Cap nods. “The Key hasn’t lost any power. He has. He thrives off chaos, off the collected power of his brothers. We’re taking them out one by one, and it’s throwing him off.”

“So basically he’s a sore loser," Tony remarks flatly. “Wow. I’d never wanna play UNO with this guy. ” Scorpio struggles to rise to his feet, key buzzing with electric energy, ready to take down both Cap and Tony in a single strike. _An attack like that would need a little recovery time._

Cap turns to look at Tony, oddly wishing he could see his brown eyes. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I sure as hell hope so.”

Scorpio delivers the blast just as Tony and Cap dodge out of the way. A red blur rushes by Cap as Tony lunges to the ground, grabbing hold of the Key. Cap follows, pressing his forearm against Scorpio’s neck, crushing him further into the ground. His increased pressure on Scorpio is enough to loosen his grip on the Key, giving Tony the opportunity to snatch the key from his grasp. And snatch he does.

Tony stands up, the strange object tight in his grasp. “Oh, hey. This thing’s heavy. Do you seriously carry it everywhere?”

“You cannot use my own power against me!” Scorpio chokes. “My brethren will not have perished in vain! You will suffer--”

Steve promptly uses his free hand to punch Scorpio in the face. “Okay. That’s enough, hot shot. Not so powerful anymore, are you?”

Tony tilts his head a little, holding the key to Scorpio‘s chest. “Oh, I am really gonna enjoy this. Ready, Cap?”

“As ever.” He glances up at Tony, unsure if there’s enough time to convey everything he wants to say in one look. He decides there isn’t as he aptly rolls out of the way, and all there is for a moment is a flash of white light as Tony rams the key into Scorpio’s chest.

The Key that reveals only destruction, a perfect deadly fit in the lock that is its creator, does its final job.

* * * * *

_We did it_ , Steve thinks incredulously.

He looks around at the aftermath, the abandoned warehouse now completely destroyed. Natasha has an arm around Clint, who seems to be limping on his right leg. Bruce has gone off to safely de-Hulk himself. A few SHIELD agents who’d attempted to obtain the Key early in the fight are being carried off on stretchers, assisted by Thor--some of whom Steve wishes he could say would make it through that ride to the hospital, but he's not so sure. However, Maria Hill's reported via communicator that there had been no civilian casualties.

The reality of a seemingly endless battle finally won washes over the group. Natasha is the first one to speak after a long moment: “Someone’s gotta get Stark out of here--”

“I’ll do it,” Steve says, voice so mangled in his throat it’s a wonder he can muster audible words, “I’ll get him. You all go on. Make sure Bruce is all right.”

Tony Stark is slumped over in the rubble, his helmet tossed aside revealing mussed up hair and tired eyes. SHIELD had taken the Key, but its power had still been all too much for Tony who had gone into battle with bruises to begin with. Night fell over New York hours ago, and the area had been cleared off, even of journalists and city-goers trying to catch a glimpse of the Avengers’ latest triumph. Steve makes his way to Tony.

He wonders what he should say. What he could even _begin_ to say. _I promised him that day. That I’d help him. That I’d come back for him._ The memory makes him ache, and the sight of Tony--worn, broken, and yet very much alive--is overpowering. It overtakes his senses, and Steve finds himself falling. Falling to his knees in front of Tony Stark, who looks up at him and smiles a little. “Hi.”

How Steve had missed those brown eyes. “Hey,” he replies. For a few seconds, neither man says anything at all. Steve listens to Tony’s breathing, thinking how he never thought he’d hear something as simple and everyday as Tony’s even inhales and exhales again, and how wonderful the sounds are to his ears.

Steve takes in a shaky breath, and after a beat, pulls Tony (armor and all) into a bone-crushing embrace. He hears Tony wince a little, then after a moment feels him relax against Steve’s touch. “I’m sorry," he mutters, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep my promise to you."

This is the second time in two weeks Steve finds himself crying in the midst of war-induced ruins under stars. He wants Tony Stark to chastise him. Mock him. Hate him, even.

But Tony just shakes his head, and, to Steve’s surprise, wraps ironclad arms around him. “No," he whispers into Steve‘s neck, and for a while they stay that way, holding each other under the blanket of stars. “You’re keeping it now."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is: the last chapter. I really want to thank you all for sticking with me for this little story. I hope you enjoyed it--I worked pretty hard on it and I appreciate all the feedback! Hoping I'll be able to write and post some things here and there despite how busy school keeps me. In the meantime enjoy this last chapter and thanks again! DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. What else is new?

“Well. That’s something you don’t see everyday. Unless you’re me.”

Darcy Lewis crosses her arms and shakes her head as she watches her coworker, mentor, and best friend snog the living daylights out of her battered and bruised demi-god of a boyfriend (no, really. He’s actually a demi-god. She’s not even trying to compliment him. Did she mention she’s tasered him once?). Everyone else in the room looks just about as uncomfortable as she does, but no one says anything for a few moments. There had been a lot of loss these last few weeks; Jane’s inability to contact Thor (and the idea that she may not be able to again) had been no exception. Jane had, of course, been working hard to try and fix it all, and also doing what she could to support the team to which Thor belonged. But Darcy knew how forlorn she’d been, how hopeless she'd felt. It was a nice change to see her happy, and this causes a small smile to make its way across Darcy’s face, despite the maybe slightly over-the-top tongue-hockey fest she’s witnessing.

Finally though, Fury clears his throat loudly.

There is a shuffling as Jane awkwardly pulls away from Thor with a nervous laugh. “Oh. Sorry. Honey, I think they have a lot of questions-- _I_ have a lot of questions.”

“I am sure you do.” Thor nods, glancing round the kitchen at each person in warm greeting. He squeezes Jane’s hands before making his way toward the kitchen counter, not before grinning down at Darcy. “The Lady Lewis. It is good to see you.”

“‘Sup, man?” Darcy punches his arm, biting her lip to hide the fact that it probably hurt her hand a lot more than it did his muscle, “Long time, no see.”

Thor leans against the counter. “Verily, I thought I may not return to you all in time. Though I was not entirely sure of the situation here on Midgard, Loki had revealed to me that he was using these Zodiac foes against you--I take it you were aware of Loki's involvement."

“It became apparent to us later on, yes," Fury supplies, “We managed to capture Aquarius, for a while anyway. Agent Romanoff and Dr. Banner ascertained that only Loki could have known what to use against the Avengers both physically and emotionally.”

“I only wish we on Asgard had detected the presence of those foul creatures. But the strange Key gave them the power to appear as visions to Loki in our dimension. It seemed like nothing more to me than his bouts of lunacy as he talked and whispered for long hours in his quarters, seemingly to no one."

Bruce chimes in from the corner of the room. “Understandable. Like I've said before," he says, “Guy's mind is a bag of cats." Darcy grins and stifles a laugh.

“My father is dealing with him for now," continues Thor, “ It was with his assistance that I was able to restore the portal and return Friend Stark home. Though there may be consequences . . . nexus-portals at the edge of space are not so easily found, nor fixed when severed. My father has always made a point to be wary of them. When I return home, he may not be so happy with me." He frowns a little, but brightens in mere seconds, which Darcy finds he tends to do a lot. "But in the meantime, I am most happy to have returned here to Midgard."

Darcy raises her hand. “Can I just ask--'cause I know everyone's thinking it--how is Tony Stark even alive?"

Jane nods in agreement. “When I had a chance to use my computer to zoom in on the portal's physical components, there was a hole torn through. We know that was the reason you weren’t able to return to Earth--actually, it was Darcy who made the connection between Tony's ascent into space and the cut in the portal--”

“--Damn right I did--"

“--But Stark should have died," Natasha concludes, as usual not beating around any bush. She’s touching up a cut on Clint’s forehead, and he keeps swatting her hand away. “He shouldn't have even survived the Key's energy blast. His suit wasn't equipped to handle it."

Thor shakes his head. “When I found the Man of Iron, he was on Alfheim, the land of the light-elves. A friendly woodland boy had discovered him in the woods."

“Wait, is this a Grimm fairytale or is it what actually happened?" asks Clint with a raised eyebrow.

“I speak not in jest, friend Clint. Tony Stark truly was approaching death, and fast. The large blue circle in the center of his chest had dimmed. I knew that if I did not return to Midgard at once, not only would this realm succumb to chaos at the hands of the Zodiac, but the Man of Iron would lose his life."

“So, what," Darcy mutters, trying to piece it all together, “did the Key mess with the reactor thing that helps his heart? Break it or something?”

Banner is quick to reply, “No. It must have been able to revive itself enough that Tony could fight with us tonight. I think it just may not have worked properly on Asgard. Different realm, different elements. Wow, how about that?"

Everyone pauses for a moment, letting Bruce have his Nerd Moment and letting all this information sink in. “The Key," Jane says finally, “must have had enough power not only to send Tony straight through the portal, but also enough to push him through to another dimension--Alf-whatever, right, honey? The Zodiac hadn't intended for that to happen."

“Damn, my best friend's smart," Darcy adds, and Jane blushes, leaning into Thor's arm as he smiles down at her.

Fury sighs. “Well. The Key is in our possession now. SHIELD will keep it safe until we find a suitable location for it. That thing holds nothing but dark power, and who knows what else. It’s not for us to find out. It's a good thing Stark managed to bring down Scorpio with it or he'd damn well be back for it."

“Speaking of," says Bruce, “Anyone know where he is? He wasn't looking so great on the field."

This is a question Darcy actually knows the answer to. “Last time I saw, Cap was taking him upstairs. Tony was all kinds of unconscious. I think he's probably resting."

“As we all should. A debriefing will be held to figure out just what the hell happened these last two weeks, but for now." Fury nods to them all (his manly gesture of appreciation, Darcy thinks), “Everybody go get some well-deserved sleep."

What Darcy had actually seen, she reflects as she walks with Thor and Jane to head to their quarters, was this: Cap attempting to slip upstairs with Tony in his arms unnoticed, a combination of worry and relief and tiredness in his expression. He hadn’t looked up from Tony’s face the whole time. Just watched him like he was the only thing that ever mattered. Darcy almost wanted to write a poem about it or something. It really had been something to see. But it had also been a moment that even Darcy could tell was very private, so she kept it to herself.

Darcy likes to think she notices a lot of things other people might not. She noticed Steve and Tony tonight. And now she notices the collective quiet hum among the group as they disperse--that of soft-spoken triumph.

The Avengers don’t gloat. They only carry on after the battle’s won, feeling even stronger, even more united than before.

* * * * *

This is the first time in weeks that Tony has opened his eyes to what he wants to see.

He is under his own covers, and Steve Rogers is sitting on the edge of the bed, a small smile on his lips. This is no illusion. No fevered dream. This is reality falling over him, a safe, familiar quilt. “Tony?” His name is a question on Steve’s lips. “Hey. How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got punched in the chest,” he says, “And then run over by a U-HAUL. And then maybe punched again.”

Steve’s smile falters a little. He averts his eyes to look down at his hands. “You should heal up soon if you rest. That means no impromptu trips to your workshop for the next couple weeks, by the way. Pepper was adamant I tell you that--you just missed her. She was here for an hour or so.”

 _So she’s Pepper now, huh? Not Ms. Potts. Interesting._ Tony thinks there’s a lot he should say right now. He’d be damned if he had any idea where to begin, though. “So, um. Sorry. I guess I kind of fainted on you?” There. That’s a good start. Or something.

“Yeah.” Steve’s tiny grin returns once more. “That’s all right. I started to help you up to get you to the helicopter, and then you fell. Caught you before you hit the ground, though.”

Tony takes a moment to watch this strange person--this super-soldier with a heart of gold that Tony had tried and failed so many times to resent. He’s still got a smudge of dirt on his face from battle, but he’s donning a white t-shirt and khakis as opposed to his star-spangled blue spandex that Tony’s poked fun at countless times. He looks like Steve, now. There’s a trace of the Captain in his eyes as there always is, but now he’s just Steve in a t-shirt looking at Tony with big eyes full of concern. It’s then, in the awe of Steve sitting before him (after weeks of wishing he were), Tony finds himself muttering, “Like I said before. You kept your promise.”

This causes a bitter laugh to escape Steve’s lips, an odd sound that nearly makes Tony jump. “No, Tony. You don’t have to pretend all this didn’t happen because of me.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Technically it happened because a bunch of creepy mutants got too carried away with their shiny key-shaped hip-hop group logo,” he replies, but the joke falls flat, and he sighs. “Listen. A _lot_ of stuff happened, all at once, and it’s gonna take a long time to explain and I’m not even sure of half of it myself, but the point is--blaming yourself for all of it is just--” _An insult. To me, because you’re the reason I kept going as long as I did._ “--It’s stupid, Steve.”

“I’m not the only one who thinks it, you know. The whole of New York knows I screwed up, Tony--”

“The whole of New York has no idea the kind of hero you are,” Tony blurts, and immediately clamps his mouth shut tight, peering up at the ceiling. Nice ceiling. He built it himself. In his peripheral vision Steve is as genuinely taken aback by his words as Tony, his lips parted slightly in an 'o’ of surprise.

It’s he who breaks the silence. “I was the _hero_ at your funeral, Tony. And I felt like I’d died too.” He stands, which makes Tony’s mind go into a state of flurried panic despite his outwardly stoic expression. “I’m gonna let you get some rest.”

And then Steve is walking away. Tony sits up sharply, ignoring the throbbing hurt in all his muscles, gaze darting after the man he doesn’t want to leave, mind tripping over words left unsaid. He notices as Steve exits, wallet in hand to swipe his activation card to enter his room, that something like a small piece of paper had fallen to the ground behind him.

Curiosity gets the best of him, and Tony takes a deep breath. “Okay. Here we go.” In a fluid motion he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, all but crying out in pain. “Shitshitshitshit--”

“Sir?” JARVIS’ voice fills the room. “Pepper Potts and Captain Rogers have instructed that I make sure you remain--”

“I don’t need any comments from the peanut gallery, thanks very much, JARVIS. Also, since when do you take orders from them? What kind of mutiny is this?”

“Sir, you are much too weak to--”

“Oh, calm your raging HTML codes, JARVIS. Gimme a sec.” Slowly but surely, Tony gathers the strength enough to stand and shuffle over to the discarded scrap on the floor, which he discovers is a photograph. He moves painstakingly slowly to reach down and pick it up, not at all attempting to keep his wound-induced cursing to a minimum.

It’s when he sees what the photograph depicts that he falls silent, because he recognizes it all too well: it’s of his father Howard, standing proud with an arm wrapped around one Steve Rogers in 1942. There are creases where Steve had folded it up to evidently hold it in his wallet. Tony only knows of one place he could’ve gotten it--from storage in Malibu.

 _Pepper Potts, you fiend._ He shakes his head a little, running a hand over Steve’s two-dimensional smiling face. He stumbles back a little to sit on the bed, studying the picture in an attempt to understand why Steve would be carrying it around with him.

When the knowledge hits him, it’s worse than any pain he’d been feeling since he awoke, stinging and buzzing in his chest. Steve and Tony hadn’t taken any pictures together in the last year. There hadn’t been any real reason to, now that Tony thinks back on it.

This was Steve’s way of holding onto Tony. This picture was the closest thing he’d had to a connection with him.

“Dammit,” he mumbles, stuffing the photo into his pocket and jogging out the door despite the weariness in his limbs. Somehow he already knows exactly where Steve has run to.

* * * * *

Steve is watching the sunrise.

He’s beyond tired, but he knows sleep won’t come to him now. He’s always been a morning person, anyway. The sky is all pinks and yellows, and Steve squints out at the sight before him, trying to focus on the streaks of light in the sky as the sun makes its presence known. Tries to focus on anything but the fact that he just walked away from the person who he wishes he could admit means everything to him.

“You dropped something.”

Steve lets his eyes close, letting Tony Stark’s voice surround him. He hears Tony’s padding footsteps behind him until the man comes to a halt beside him in his usual spot. They stand side-by-side on the roof, and Steve thinks of sleepless nights and stars.

Tony holds out a hand in front of him. In place of the usual glass of scotch on the rocks there is a photograph-- _the_ photograph. Steve feels himself blushing violently as he mutters, “Thanks, but it belongs to you.”

“Okay, look. I am really tired of beating around the metaphorical bush, here.” Tony exhales loudly, lifting a hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes for a few seconds.

Steve does nothing to hide the concern in his voice as he replies, “You really should be resting."

“Oh, my God. If you say that to me one more time I’m seriously going to punch you. Just . . . relax for a second. Let me say what I have to say." He pauses. “Well, I don’t even really _know_ what I’m trying to say. But I’ll know when I say it." He holds up the worn photograph, waving it around spastically as begins to pace back and forth. “My dad was practically in love with you. Did you know that? You were his perfect . . . everything. Perfect human--well, superhuman if you wanna get technical. Perfect person. Perfect son.” Steve narrows his eyes, opening his mouth before promptly clamping it shut again. He at least owes Tony this time to speak, after what he’s done to mess things up between them. “When I first met you, I spent a bulk of my time trying to figure out what the hell was so special about you. And then as I got to know you I realized you’re even more than anything my father ever said about you. Which is why it annoys me so much that you’re beating yourself up for what happened. Because you made the choice you had to in order to keep this place safe, and it worked. Do you see the apocalypse happening? Because I sure as hell don’t."

“But I lost you." Steve doesn’t mean for his words to fall over themselves, for his voice to tighten so much, but it does.

Tony’s eyes soften, and for a fraction of a second he’s quiet, letting Steve’s brutally honest words sink in. It isn’t long, however, before he starts raving again, practically jogging to and fro on the roof. Steve lets his eyes follow him as he goes on, “Yeah, well. When I was up on Asgard, I realized what I lost too--well, it was Alfheim, really, the realm of the light-elves? Holy shit.” He lets out a short laugh. “I _actually_ sound insane, don’t I?”

Steve ducks his head, a smile tugging at his mouth despite the ache in his heart.

“Anyway, I’ll explain all that later. But the point is, it’s like you were there with me. The whole time. Okay, obviously you _weren’t_ , ‘cause you were here.” He lets his hands fall to his sides in exasperation. “But I wanted you to be there. So fucking badly. _So_ badly, Steve, that I . . . I willed myself to believe you were, sometimes. I thought of you all the time. It was annoying. ” Steve isn‘t sure he can believe what he‘s hearing. He wants to say, _It was the same for me down here_ , or _You were the reason I kept fighting_ , but before he can get a word in edgewise, Tony goes on, “I just. I don’t know what this is, what I feel toward you, but the point is I want to keep feeling it--”

“Tony,” is all Steve can manage, a barely audible sound. This is certainly not how he’d pictured Tony’s little speech to go, and he finds his heart hammering fast in his chest, a lump in his throat.

“--And you’re just. You’re everywhere and everything and I realized that for the past year it’s been that way all the time. You’re the person I want to spend time with, and--”

Steve shakes his head incredulously, a combination of amusement and shock coursing through him now. “Tony.”

“--And I think being on a completely different plane of existence really puts things in perspective, y’know, and even in a different dimension I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and also I’m pretty sure you were an elf, and--”

“ _Anthony Stark._ ”

Tony blinks at the sound of his full name, looking like a small child who‘s just been reprimanded for stealing candy. “Yeah-huh?”

In the brisk autumn morning, in the ridiculous black jumpsuit he wears under his ostentatious red armr, in big brown eyes and a slight pout, Tony Stark is the most beautiful thing Steve Rogers has ever seen.

He decides it’s high time he does something about that.

Steve takes in a breath, a sheepish smile replacing the shocked expression he’s worn for the past few minutes. “For once in your life,” he whispers, “Shut up,” and he places a hand on the small of Tony’s back before leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. He hopes it conveys that he’s understood everything Tony has said to him this morning, and more importantly, he hopes it conveys the simple sentiment: _Me, too._

The sunlight outlines their bodies as Tony tugs on Cap’s shirt, pulling him closer. Steve’s eyes are closed but colors burst behind his lids at the taste of Tony’s chapped and cut and perfect lips, the sensation of Tony’s tongue exploring Steve’s mouth. It’s perfect, so perfect . . . too perfect?

He breaks the kiss only to ask the definitive question: “Are you sure you want this, Tony?"

“Let's be real, here." Tony slides his hands up and around Cap's shoulders, folding them to rest around his neck. “Would I be here if I didn't? Also, I don’t spew my feelings for just anyone. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Well, this . . . this is a big decision we're making, here, and I mean, I . . . if you don't want . . . I'd understand if--"

“Okay. Now it's my turn to cut you off." Steve barely has time to protest before Tony is kissing him again, and suddenly he can't remember why he was even worried, because this is what he's been waiting for, what they both have been waiting for, and as Tony leads him back into the house he can feel something new rising to the surface--from the sky, to the ground on which he stands, and drumming in his heart.

* * * * *

SIX MONTHS LATER

* * * * *

“Tony? You awake?”

Tony Stark opens his eyes to the sensation of Steve Rogers’ lips pressing against his collarbone. He grins, craning his neck to give Steve better access, trying to hide a sigh as Steve trails kisses up and down his neck, behind his ear, just below his jaw. “Mm. Five more minutes? You’re not doing a very good job selling the waking-up thing.”

He can practically hear Steve smirk into the crook of his neck. “Hey. It’s not my fault I had to drag you out of your lab at 2AM--”

“--I was working on a prototype, Steve. Clint’s gonna flip; his new and improved set of arrows rival those of Legolas himself--”

“--And if we don’t hurry up and get dressed, we’re gonna be late.”

Tony rolls his eyes, shifting under the covers, turning to face Steve. He receives a whole lot of _newspaper_ in the face and scowls; Steve has apparently returned to reading the morning paper to prove his need-to-get-ready point. Damp hair peeking out above the paper tells Tony he’s already showered (ever the early bird; he’s probably been awake for hours. Tony decided upon discovering this months ago that his boyfriend is certifiably insane). Tony squints at the loud, thick black headlines.

_THANK YOU, AVENGERS--New York’s favorite heroes save the day once again, and they’re not going anywhere._

_Captain America: A hero redeemed? His leadership six months after the return of Tony Stark’s Iron Man . . ._

Tony snatches the newspaper out of Steve’s hands, promptly tossing it to the floor and scooting close enough to settle on top of Steve, leaning up to bite his earlobe playfully. “You know me,” he murmurs, “I’m fashionably late for everything. People love it."

“I don’t think the Best Man at his friend's wedding can _afford_ to be late, Tony.” Steve is using his deep, authoritative no-nonsense voice.

But Tony decides right then and there he's not going to lose this battle. He shifts and sits up to straddle Steve's hips, batting his eyes innocently before dipping low to press a rough kiss to Steve's lips, threading one hand through Steve's hair and the other fiddling with the hem of his boxers. The sound of Steve's failed attempt to stifle a moan makes Tony shudder in delight despite himself. Steve slides his hands up Tony's bare thighs to rest on his waist, and Tony involuntarily sighs into Steve's mouth and soon they become irrevocably locked in one another's presence, tangled in the sheets and fitting together, perfect pieces becoming one . . . 

After, they're lying side-by-side in a mess of sheets and heavy, happy exhales. "Tony," Steve finally says, laughing breathlessly, "We really need to get going."

Tony huffs theatrically. “ _Fiiine._ But you’re making me pancakes. I can’t just go do something big like be the Best Man at a wedding and not have pancakes first.”

“Deal.” Steve takes a few more moments to catch his breath and Tony watches him out of the corner of his eye, grinning stupidly at this man who has somehow managed to become Tony's. Then Steve abruptly springs out of bed, throwing on a pair of strewn sweatpants and calling after him, “I'll meet you in the kitchen. Go shower.”

“Yes, _Mom_ ,” Tony mumbles, trying to remain annoyed but failing miserably as he watches Steve all but skip out of the room. _If he wasn’t so fucking adorable, I swear . . ._

Tony doesn’t know what he swears. If he’s to be honest, this is the happiest he’s been in years. And he’ll be damned if he screws it up.

He climbs out of bed to take a shower. If he’s still grinning from the high of waking up to those speckled kisses that lead to a hell of a lot more, no one is around to see. Except JARVIS, who today greets him with a “Good morning, sir,” but doesn’t ask how Tony’s doing, because the AI already knows the answer.

 _Content._ Something he’s unknowingly been striving for his whole life. Contentedness. And in Steve, Tony’s found it.

But good God, are they going to be late.

* * * * *

When Pepper Potts weds Harold “Happy” Hogan, it is truly a sight to behold.

Pepper really does look stunning in a long, flowing white dress. Happy is grinning like a madman, looking like she’s the only person in the world. Steve can empathize. He finds he feels a lot like how Happy looks right now whenever he’s with Tony.

In the first few rows stand, of course, the happy couple’s family. Behind them are the friends who seem to steal the show without even trying. Thor Odinson is dressed in what he calls “handfasting ceremonial garb,” which, to Steve, looks like a Hercules Halloween costume gone wrong. Jane sits beside him in a lovely pink dress, clutching his hand. Darcy is on her other side, wearing a blue and white polka-dot dress. Clint looks uncomfortable in a black suit while a sharply-dressed Natasha in blue fiddles with his tie and whispers to him to stop poking fun at blue-haired ladies’ outfits. Bruce keeps eyeing the door as one of the aforementioned old ladies chats his ear off about Pepper’s dress, and Steve keeps peeping at them to make sure Bruce doesn’t need to be excused to have some ‘green time.’

And Tony Stark stands at the altar, Best Man Extraordinaire, and Steve really wishes he could focus more on the beautiful Ms. Potts and her soon-to-be husband.

But when Anthony Stark is in a black suit and tie looking at him from across a vast, echoing room, it’s hard for Steve to notice anything else.

“ . . . by the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Mr. and Mrs. Hogan have their first kiss as husband and wife; Pepper flings her arms around Happy and the entire church erupts into applause. Steve claps along, unable to hide a smile. He’s always liked weddings--symbols of unity.

And unity is certainly what he sees--in Pepper and Happy, and in the dysfunctional, ridiculous, ostentatious, and oddly wonderful little team sitting in the pews in front of him.

* * * * *

As adventures end, they pave way for new ones.

Pepper and Happy enjoy their lavish reception hosted, of course, by Tony Stark at his tower. Jane Foster catches Pepper’s bouquet before the couple heads off to their honeymoon, screeching in shock at the same time Darcy articulately shouts, “Hell yeah!”

Out on the roof, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark stand side by side, hands clasped together, watching the stars.

* * * * *

Many lightyears away, a young boy sits at a windowsill in a small town across the river, peering up at the sky. His cousin, of golden hair and innocent eyes, shakes his shoulder. “Staffan, why do you always stay by the window and dream? You have done so night after night since you have come to live with us. Why does your mind wander so?" She smiles brightly. “Come play. Mother will pay no mind.”

The boy nods. “Soon. I am merely watching, cousin.”

“For what?”

“For the stars.”

The girl laughs. “Silly Staffan. There are no stars here.”

“No, not here.” Staffan shakes his head. “But on Midgard, I am told they are shining.” He breaks into a grin, thinking of his friend with the iron armor and hopes the stars shine bright for him this night, and runs off to play in the bright green Alfheim fields.

* * * * *

“ . . . You also missed The Beatles era. That was a good era. And no, I’m not going to sing you ‘Hey Jude,’ because last time I did that I wasn’t drunk enough to forget it, and I’m not right now, either, thanks very much.”

Steve laughs, pressing a kiss to Tony’s temple. “It was an impressive rendition, I must say.”

“Well, what would you know? Have you even heard the original? I need to get you an iPod.” Tony stuffs his hands in his suit pockets. “Anyway. What else--”

“Tony,” Steve interrupts, turning away from the sky to look at him, “I’ve decided . . . I don’t wanna talk about what I’ve missed, anymore.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Oh. Am I doing that much of a piss-poor job? I think Wikipedia upstaged me from the get-go, to be honest--”

“No, no.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just I’ve been here a while now, Tony, and I figure whatever else I’ve yet to figure out about this world, I can figure out in time. Because right now, I just want it to be us. Not the past, not the worry of whatever the hell’s ahead of us in the future . . . just us. Here and now.”

Tony looks down, and in the light of the twinkling stars Steve sees him blushing a little. “Wow. That was deep. And poetic. You should send that in to the New Yorker,” he covers with a joke, as always, but the blush is still there.

Steve snorts. “Shut up, Stark,” he retorts, but he pulls Tony against him all the same, kissing the top of his head. “Pepper and Happy seem really, well . . . happy,” he chortles.

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, and he seems oddly timid in his reply, “They do. Which, um. Which got me thinking, actually, about--”

Suddenly JARVIS’ voice cuts into the moment: “Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers; Nick Fury is on the line. There appears to be an emergency that requires an immediate assembling of the Avengers Initiative. He and Maria Hill are arriving presently and request your presence in Meeting Room 5.”

Tony looks up at Steve with a very weary _c’est la vie_ kind of expression. Steve stifles a grin. “Well. Duty calls.”

“Mhm. Glad this is happening post-wedding reception, because we already had to explain Thor’s outfit to the guests; imagine explaining _this_ ,” Tony deadpans. Steve laughs, and Tony pulls his hands out of his pockets to entwine them with Steve’s. “Ready, Captain?”

“As ever, Mr. Stark.”

As they head back inside to face the world, Steve doesn’t mention that he noticed the small stutter in Tony’s speech, the nervous gesture in hiding his hands in his pockets and behind his back--or the little black box jutting out of his suit pocket.

That, he figures, is an adventure for another time.

Another night with hands and minds and hearts laced together under the stars.


End file.
